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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c601d33 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #50071 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/50071) diff --git a/old/50071-0.txt b/old/50071-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index a762aef..0000000 --- a/old/50071-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9333 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Round about Bar-le-Duc, by Susanne R. Day - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Round about Bar-le-Duc - -Author: Susanne R. Day - -Release Date: September 28, 2015 [EBook #50071] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROUND ABOUT BAR-LE-DUC *** - - - - -Produced by Shaun Pinder, Les Galloway and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - ROUND ABOUT - BAR-LE-DUC - - - BY - - SUSANNE R. DAY - AUTHOR OF "THE AMAZING PHILANTHROPISTS," ETC. - - - London - SKEFFINGTON & SON, LTD. - 34 SOUTHAMPTON STREET, STRAND, W.C. 2 - PUBLISHERS TO HIS MAJESTY THE KING - - - TO - - CAROL - - FOR WHOSE EYES - THIS BOOK WAS WRITTEN - - - - -PREFACE - - -TO CAROL - -Dear, you asked me to write for you the story of my work and adventures -in France, and through all the agonising hours of incubation and -parturition you have given me your unfailing sympathy, encouragement -and help. You have even chastened me (it was a devastating hour!) for -my--and, I believe, for the book's--good, and when we discovered that -the original form--that of intimate personal letters written directly -to you--did not suit the subject matter, you acquiesced generously in a -change, the need for which I, at least, shall ever deplore. - -And now that the last words have been written and Finis lies upon the -page, I know how short it all falls of my ideal and how unworthy it is -of your high hope of me. And yet I dare to offer it to you, knowing -that what is good in it is yours, deep delver that you are for the gold -that lies--somewhere--in every human heart. - -Twenty months in the war zone ought, one would imagine, to have -provided me with countless hair-breadth escapes, thrills, and perhaps -even shockers with which to regale you, but the adventures are all -those of other people, an occasional flight to a cellar in a raid being -all we could claim of danger. And so, instead of being a book about -English women in France, it is mainly a book about French women in -their own country, and therein lies its chief, if not its only claim to -merit. - -Humanness was the quality which above all others you asked for, and if -it possesses that I shall know it has not been written in vain. - - SUSANNE R. DAY. - - _London, - January 1918._ - - - - - CONTENTS - - - CHAP. PAGE - - I. MAINLY INTRODUCTORY 11 - - II. EN ROUTE--SERMAIZE-LES-BAINS 16 - - III. FIRST IMPRESSIONS 29 - - IV. À TRAVERS BAR-LE-DUC 47 - - V. SETTLING IN 61 - - VI. THE BASKET-MAKERS OF VAUX-LES-PALAMIES 73 - - VII. IN WHICH WE PLAY TRUANT 87 - - VIII. THE MODERN CALVARY 107 - - IX. IN WHICH WE BECOME EMISSARIES OF LE - BON DIEU 125 - - X. PRIESTS AND PEOPLE 136 - - XI. REPATRIÉES 160 - - XII. STORM-WRACK FROM VERDUN 179 - - XIII. MORE STORM-WRACK 198 - - XIV. AIR RAIDS 207 - - XV. M. LE POILU 223 - - ENVOI 255 - - - - -ROUND ABOUT BAR-LE-DUC - - - - -CHAPTER I - -MAINLY INTRODUCTORY - - -Relief Work in the War Zone. It did sound exciting. No wonder I -volunteered, but, oh dear! great was the plenitude of my ignorance. -I vaguely understood that we were to distribute clothes and rabbits, -kitchen utensils, guano and other delectable necessaries to a stricken -people, but not that we were to wear a uniform and that the uniform -would be made "by post." If I had there might never have been a chapter -to write nor a tale to tell. - -That uniform!--shall I ever forget it? Or the figure I cut when I -put it on? Of course, like any sensible female woman, I wanted to -have it made by my own tailor and in my own way. Strict adherence -to the general scheme, of course, with reasonable modification to -suit the individual. But Authority said NO. Only by one man and in -one place could that uniform be made. Frankly sceptical at first, I -am now a devout believer. For it was certainly unique; perhaps in -strict truth I ought to say that several specimens of it were unique. -There was one--but this is a modest tale told by a modest woman. -Stifle curiosity, and be content with knowing that the less cannot -contain the greater. And then let us go hence and ponder upon the -sweet reasonableness of man, or at least of one man who, when asked to -produce the uniform hats, replied, "But what for, Madam?" - -"Well, to try on, of course." - -"Try on? Why ever should you want to do that?" - -Perhaps you won't believe this? But it is true. - -Oh, the agonies of those last days of preparation, and the heartrending -impossibility of getting any really useful or practical information -about an outfit! - -"Wear pyjamas, a mess-tin, and a water-bottle. And of course you must -have a sleeping-bag and a bath." - -This was at least encouraging. Were we going to sleep _à la belle -étoile_, a heap of stones our pillow, our roof the sky? You can -imagine how I thrilled. But there was the bath. Even in France.... I -relinquished the stars with a sigh and realised that Authority was -talking learnedly about the uniform, talking swiftly, confidently, -assuredly, and as I listened conviction grew that once arrayed in it -every difficulty and danger would melt away, and the French nation -prostrate itself before my blushing feet in one concentrated desire to -pay homage and assist. One danger certainly melted away, but, alas! it -took Romance with it. As a moral life-belt that uniform has never been -equalled. - -And then there was the kit-bag. Ye gods, I KNOW that villainous -thing was possessed of the devil. From the day I found it, lying a -discouraged heap upon my bedroom floor, to the day when it tucked -itself on board ship in direct defiance of my orders and invited the -Germans to come and torpedo it--which they promptly did--it never -ceased to annoy. It lost its key in Paris, and on arrival at Sermaize -declined to allow itself to be opened. It was dumped in my "bedroom" -(of which more later), the lock was forced, Sermaize settled itself to -slumber. I proceeded to unpack, plunged in a hand and drew forth--a -pair of blue serge trousers. - -Wild yells for help brought Sermaize to my door. What the owner of the -trousers thought when his broken-locked bag was flung back upon him, -history does not relate. He had opened what he thought was HIS bag, so -possibly he was beyond speech. He was a shy young man and he had never -been in France before. - -If the thing--the bag, I mean, not the shy young man--had been pretty -or artistic one might have forgiven it all its sins. Iniquity should -always be beautiful. But that bag was plain, _mais d'une laideur -effroyable_. Just for all the world like a monstrous obscene sausage, -green with putrefaction and decay. What I said when I tried to pack -is not fit for a young and modest ear. I planted it on its hind legs, -seized a pair of boots, tried to immure them in its depths, slipped and -fell into it head foremost. It was then the devil chuckled. I heard -him. He had been waiting, you see--he knew. - -It is some consolation that a certain not-to-be-named friend -was not on the hotel steps as I stole forth that torrid June -morning. Every imp of the thousand that possess her would have -danced with glee. How she would have laughed: for there I was, -the not-to-be-tried-on-uniform-hat, a grotesque little inverted -pudding-bowl of a thing, perched like a fungoid growth on the top of my -head, the uniform itself hanging blanket-like about my shrinking form -(it was heavy enough for the arctic regions), a water-bottle which had -refused point-blank to go into the kit-bag hanging over one shoulder, -and a bulging brown knapsack jutting blasphemously from my back. What -a vision! Tartarin of Tarascon climbing the Alps with an ironmonger's -shop on his back fades ignominiously in comparison. But then I wasn't -just climbing commonplace tourist-haunted Alps. I was going "to the -Front." At least, so my family said when making pointed and highly -encouraging remarks about my will. That the "Front" in question was -twenty miles from a trench was a mere detail. Why go to the War Zone if -you don't swagger? I swaggered. Not much, you know--just the faintest -æsthetic suspicion of a swagger, and then.... Then Nemesis fell--fell -as I passed a mirror, and saw.... I crawled on all fours into France. - -I crawled on all fours into Paris. Think of it, PARIS! No wonder French -women murmured, "Mais, Mademoiselle, vous êtes très devouée." I am a -modest woman (I have mentioned this before, but it bears repetition), -but whenever I thought of that uniform I believed them. - -If Paris had not been at war she would probably have arrested me at the -Douane, and I should have deserved it. Fancy insulting her by wearing -such clothes, and on such a night--a clear, purple, perfect summer -night, when she lay like a fairy city caught in the silvery nets of the -moon. And yet there was a strange, ominous hush over it all. The city -lying quiet and, oh, so still! It seemed to be waiting, waiting, a cup -from which the wine had been poured upon the red floor of war. - -Wandering along the deserted quays, wondering what the morrow would -bring.... What a night that was, the sheer exquisite beauty of it! The -Conciergerie dark against the sky, the gleaming path of the river, and -then the Louvre and the Tuileries all hushed to languorous, passionate -beauty in the arms of the moon. - -Don't you love Paris, every stone of her? I do. But I was not allowed -to stay there. Inexorable Fate sent me the next morning in a taxi and -a state of excusable excitement to the Gare de l'Est, where, kit-bag, -mess-tin, water-bottle and all, I was immured in the Paris-Nancy -express and borne away through a morning of glittering sunshine to -Vitry-le-François, there to be deposited upon the platform and in the -arms of a grey-coated and becomingly-expectant young man. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -EN ROUTE--SERMAIZE-LES-BAINS - - -I - -Like Bartley Fallon of immortal memory, "if there's any ill luck at -all in the world, 'tis on meself it falls." Needless to say, I was -not allowed to remain in the arms of that nice young man; and indeed, -to give him his due, he showed no overwhelming desire to keep me -there. The embodiment of all Quakerly propriety, he conducted me with -befitting ceremony to the station just as the sun began to drop down -the long hills of the sky, and sent me forth once more, this time -with a ticket for Sermaize-les-Bains in my pocket. My proverbial luck -held good--that is to say, bad. The train was an OMNIBUS. Do you know -what that means? No? Then I shall tell you. It is the philosopher -of locomotion, the last thing in, the final triumph of, thoughtful, -leisurely progression. Its phlegm is sheerly imperturbable, its -serenity of that large-souled order which cataclysms cannot ruffle -nor revolutions disturb. A destination? It shrugs its shoulder. Yes, -somewhere, across illimitable continents, across incalculable æons of -time. The world is beautiful, haste the expression of a vulgar age. To -travel hopefully is to arrive. It hopes. Eventually, if God is good, it -arrives. - -And so did we, after long consultative visits to small wayside -stations, and after much meditative meandering through sunset-coloured -lands. Arrived--ah, can you wonder at it?--with just a little catch -in our throats and a shamed mistiness of vision, for had we not seen, -there in that little clump of undergrowth outside the wood, a lonely -cross, fenced with a rustic paling, an old red mouldering _képi_ -hanging on the point? And then in the field another ... and again -another ... mute, pitiful, inspiring witnesses of the grim tragedy of -war. - -And then came Sermaize, once a thriving little town, a thing of streets -and HOMES, of warm firelit rooms where the great game of Life was -played out day by day, where the stakes were Love and Laughter, and -Success and Failure and Death, where men and women met, it might be on -such a night as this--a night to dream in and to love, a night when the -slow pulse of the Eternal Sea beat quietly upon the ear--met to tell -the age-old story while the world itself stood still to listen, and -out of the silence enchantment grew, and old standards and old values -passed away and a new Heaven and a new Earth were born. - -Once a thing of streets and homes! Ah, there lies the real tragedy -of the ruined village. Bricks and mortar? Yes. You may tell the tale -to the last ultimate sou if you will, count it all up, mark it all -down in francs and centimes, tell me that here in one brief hour the -Germans did so much damage, destroyed so many thousand pounds worth of -property, ground such and such an ancient monument to useless powder, -but who can count the cost, or appraise the value of the things which -no money can buy, that only human lives can pay for? - -One ruined village is exactly like every other ruined village you -may say with absolute truth, and yet be wrong. A freak of successful -destruction here, a fantastic failure there, may give a touch of -individuality, even a hint of the grotesque. That tall chimney, how -oddly it leans against the sky. That archway standing when everything -about it is rubble and dust. That bit of twisted iron-work, writhing -like an uncouth monster, that stairway climbing ridiculously into -space. Yes, they are all alike, these villages, and all heartrendingly -different. For each has its hidden story of broken lives to tell, of -human hopes and human ambitions dashed remorselessly to earth, of human -friendships severed, of human loves torn and bleeding, trampled under -the red heel of war. Lying there in the moonlight, Sermaize possessed -an awful dignity. In life it may have been sordid and commonplace, in -death, wrapped in the silver shroud of the moon, it was sublime. - -As we passed through the broken piles of masonry and brick-and -iron-work every inch of the road throbbed with its history, the ruins -became infused with life and--was it phantasy? a trick of the night? of -the dream-compelling moon?--out of the dark shadows came the phantoms -of men and women and little children, their eyes wide with fear and -longing, their empty hands outstretched.... - -Home! They cried the word aloud, and the night was filled with their -crying. - -And so we passed. Looking back now, I think the dominant emotion of -the moment was one of rage, of blind, impotent, ravening fury against -the senseless cruelty that could be guilty of such a thing. For the -destruction of Sermaize-les-Bains was not a grim necessity of war. It -was a sacrifice to the pride of the All-Highest. - -In a heat that was sheerly tropical the battle had raged to and fro. -The Grande Place had been torn to atoms by the long-range German guns, -then came hand-to-hand fighting in the streets, and the Germans in -possession. The inhabitants, terrified, for the most part fled to the -woods. Some remained, but among them unfortunately not the Mayor. He -had gone away early in the morning. He was, perhaps, a simple-minded -person. He cannot have realised how inestimable a privilege it is to -receive a German Commandant in the "Town Hall" he has just blown to -infinitesimal fragments. It may even be--though it is difficult to -believe it--that, conscious of the privilege, he yet dared to despise -it. Whatever the reason the fact remains--he was not there. What an -insult to German pride, what a blow to German prestige! No wonder -the Commandant strode into the street and in a voice trembling with -righteous indignation gave the order, "Pillage and Fire." - -Oh, it was a merry game that, and played to a magnificent finish. The -houses were stripped as human ghouls stripped the dead upon Napoleonic -battlefields; glass, china, furniture, pictures, silver, heirlooms -cherished through many a generation, it was a glorious harvest, and -what was not worth the gleaning was piled into heaps and burned. - -There are certain pastilles, innocent-looking things like a man's coat -button, round and black, with a hole in the middle. They say the German -army came into France with strings of them round their necks, for in -the German army every contingency is provided for, every destructive -device supplied even to the last least ultimate detail. Its organisers -take no risks. They never throw the dice with Chance. Luck? They don't -believe in luck. They believe in efficiency and careful scientific -preparation, in clean-cut work, with no tags or loose ends of humanity -hanging from it. The human equation is merely a cog upon the machine, -and yet it is the one that is going to destroy them in the end. - -So they brought their pastilles into France just as they brought -their expert packers to ensure the safe transit into Germany of all -perishable loot. And if ever you see some of those pastilles framed at -Selfridge's and ask yourself if they could really be effective--they -are so small, so very harmless-looking--remember Sermaize and the waste -of charred rubbish lying desolate under the moon. Some one--I think -Maurice Genevoix, in _Sous Verdun_--tells how, in the early days of -war, French soldiers were sometimes horrified to see a bullet-stricken -German suddenly catch fire, become a living torch, blazing, terrible. -At first they were quite unable to account for it. You see, they didn't -know about the pastilles then. Later, when they did, they understood. -I was told in Sermaize that a German aeroplane, flying low over the -roofs, sprayed them with petrol that day. If true, it was quite an -unnecessary waste of valuable material. The pastilles were more than -equal to the occasion. But so was the French hotel-keeper who, coming -back when the Germans had commenced their long march home, and finding -his house in desiccated fragments, promptly put up a rough wooden -shelter, and hung out his sign-board, "Café des Ruines!" - - -II - -No one should go to Sermaize without paying a visit to M. le Curé. He -stayed with his people till his home was tumbling about his ears, and -even then he hung on, in the cellar. Driven out by fire, he collected -such fugitives as were at hand and helped them through the woods to a -place of safety. Of the events and incidents of that flight, of the -dramatic episodes of the bombardment and subsequent fighting--there -was a story of a French officer, for instance, who came tumbling into -the cellar demanding food and drink in the midst of all the hell, and -who devoured both, M. le Curé confessing that his own appetite at the -moment was not quite up to its usual form, howitzer shells being a poor -substitute for, shall we say, a gin-and-bitters?--it is not for me to -speak. He has told the tale himself elsewhere, and if in the telling he -has been half as witty, as epigrammatic, as vivid and as humorous as he -was when he lectured in the Common-room at Sermaize, then all I can say -is, buy the book even if you have to pawn your last pair of boots to -find the money for it. - -A rare type, M. le Curé. An intellectual, once the owner and lover -(the terms are, unhappily, not always synonymous) of a fine library, -now in ashes, a man who could be generous even to an ungenerous -foe, and remind an audience--one member, at least, of which was no -Pacifist--that according to the German code the Mayor should have -remained in the town, and that he, M. le Curé, had been able to collect -no evidence of cruelty to, or outrage upon, an individual. - -That lecture is one of the things that will live in my memory. For -the Curé was not possessed of a library of some two thousand volumes -for nothing, and whatever his Bishop's opinion may be on the subject, -I take leave to believe that Anatole France, De Maupassant, Verlaine -and Baudelaire jostled many a horrified divine upon the shelves. For -his style was what a sound knowledge of French literature had made it. -He could dare to be improper--oh, so deliciously, subtly improper! A -word, a tone, a gesture--a history. And his audience? Well, I mustn't -tell you about that, and perhaps the sense of utter incongruity was -born entirely of my own imagination. But to hear him describe how he -spent the night in a crowded railway-station waiting-room where many -things that should be decently hidden were revealed, and where he, a -respectable celibate divine, shared a pallet with dames of varying ages -and attractiveness ... and.... The veil just drawn aside fell down -again upon the scene, and English propriety came to its own with a -shudder. - -Yes, if you are wise you will visit M. le Curé. And ask him to tell -you how he disguised himself as a drover, and how, when in defiance of -all authority he came back to Sermaize, he himself swept and cleaned -out the big room which the Germans had used as a hospital, and which -they had befouled and filthied, leaving vessels full of offal and -indescribable loathlinesses, where blood was thick on walls and floor; -a room that stank, putrid, abominable. It was German filth, and German -beastliness, and French women, their hearts still hot within them, -would not touch it. - -And ask him to tell you how nearly he was killed by a shell which fell -on an outhouse in which he was taking shelter, and how he was called -up, and as a soldier of France was told to lead a horse to some -village whose name I have forgotten, and how he, who hardly knew one -end of a horse from another, led it, and on arriving at the village met -an irate officer. - -"And what are you doing here?" - -"I do not know." - -"Your regiment?" - -"I haven't one." - -"And the horse?" - -A shrug, what indeed of the horse? - -Three days later he was wearing his cassock again. - -Once, when escaping from Sermaize he was nearly shot by some French -soldiers. There were only a few of them, and their nerves had been -shattered. Nerves do give way sometimes when an avalanche sweeps over -them, and the Germans came into France like a thousand avalanches. -And so these poor wretches, separated from their regiment, fled. It -was probably the wisest thing they could do under the circumstances. -"Sauve qui peut." There are few cries more terrible than that. But a -village lay in the line of flight, and in the village there was good -red wine. It was a hot day, France was lost, Paris capitulating, and -man a thirsty animal. A corporal rescued M. le Curé when his back was -against the wall and rifles, describing wild circles, were threatening -him; finally, the nerveless ones went back to their regiment and fought -gloriously for France, and Paris did not capitulate after all. - - -III - -With a howl of bitter anguish Tante Joséphine collapsed upon the -ground, and the earth shook. For Tante Joséphine was fat, and her -bones were buried beyond all hope of recovery under great pendulous -masses of quivering, perspiring flesh. And she had walked, _mais, -pensez donc!_--walked thousands of accursed miles through the woods, -she had tripped over roots, she had been hoisted over banks, she had -crashed like an avalanche down trenches and drains. She was no longer -a woman, she was a bath--behold the perspiration!--she was an ache, -_mon Dieu!_ not one, but five million villainous aches; she was a lurid -fire of profanity. For while she, Tante Joséphine, walked and fell and -"larded the green earth," Grandmère lay in the _brouette_ and refused -to be evicted. At first Tante Joséphine tried to get in too. Surely -the war which had worked so many miracles would transform her into a -telescope, but the war was unkind, and Pierre, _pauvre petit gosse!_ -had been temporarily submerged in a sea of agitated fat from which he -had been rescued with difficulty. And Grandmère was only eighty-two, -whereas she, Tante Joséphine, was sixty. - -All day long her eyes had turned to the _brouette_, and to Grandmère -lying back like a queen. No, she could bear it no longer. If she did -not ride she would die, or be taken by the Germans, and her blood -would be on Grandmère's head, and shadowed by remorse would be all -that selfish woman's days. The wood resounded with the bellowings, and -the green earth trembled because Tante Joséphine, as she sat on it, -trembled with wrath and fatigue and desolation and woe. - -Grandmère stirred in the _brouette_. At eighty-two one is not so active -as one was at twenty, but one isn't old, _ma foi_! Père Bronchot was -old. He would be ninety-four at Toussaint, but she--oh, she could -still show that big soft thing of a Tante Joséphine what it was to be -a woman of France. She was always a weakling, was Joséphine, fit only -for pasturage. And so behold the quivering mountain ludicrously piling -itself upon the _brouette_, Pierre, a pensive look in his eye, standing -by the while. He staggered as he caught up the handles. The chariot -swayed ominously. The mountain became a volcano spurting forth fire. -The chariot steadied, and then very slowly resumed its way. Half a -kilomètre, three-quarters, a whole. Grandmère was strangely silent, for -at eighty-two one is not so young as one was at twenty, and kilomètres -grow strangely long as the years go by. - -Tante Joséphine snored. Pierre ceased to push. - -"Allons, Allons. Pierre, que veux-tu? Is it that the Germans shall -catch us and make of you a stew for their supper?" Tante Joséphine had -wakened up. - -"I am tired." - -"Ah, paresseux." The volcano became active again. - -Pierre looked at Grandmère. How old she was! And why did she look so -white as she trailed her feet bravely through the wood? - -"Grandmère is ill. She must ride!" - -What Tante Joséphine said the woods have gathered to their breast. -Pierre became pensive, then he smiled. "Eh, bien. En route." - -The kilomètre becomes very long when one is eighty-two, but Grandmère -was a daughter of France. Her head was high, her eye steadfast as she -plodded on, taking no notice of the way, never seeing the deep drain -that ran beside the path. But Pierre saw it. He must have, because he -saw everything. He was made that way. And that is why Tante Joséphine -has never been able to understand why she dreamed she was rolling down -a precipice with a railway train rolling on top of her, and wakened -to find herself deep in the soft mould at the bottom of the drain, -the _brouette_ reclining on--well, on the highest promontory of her -coast-line, while Pierre and Grandmère peered over the top with the -eyes of celestial explorers who look down suddenly into hell. - -So and in such wise was the manner of their going. Of the return -Tante Joséphine does not speak. For a time they hid in the woods, -other good Sermaizians with them. How did they live? Ah, don't ask me -that! They existed, somehow, as birds and squirrels exist, perhaps, -and then one day they said they were going home. I am not at all sure -that the authorities wanted to have them there. For only a handful -of houses remained, and though many a cellar was still intact under -the ruins, cellars, considered as human habitation, may, without -undue exaggeration, be said to lack some of the advantages of modern -civilisation. How was Tante Joséphine, how were the stained and -battered scarecrows that accompanied her to provide for themselves -during the winter? Would broken bricks make bread? Would fire-eaten -iron-work make a blanket? Authority might protest, Sermaizians did not -care. They crept into the cellars that numbed them to the very marrow -on cold days, living like badgers and foxes in their dark, comfortless -holes, enduring bitter cold and terrible privation, lacking food and -clothes and fire and light, but telling themselves that they were at -home and sucking good comfort from the telling. - -Needless to say, there weren't nearly enough cellars to go round, -and direful things might have happened but for a lucky accident. -Hidden in the woods about a mile from the town was an old Hydropathic -Establishment, known as La Source, which had escaped the general -destruction. Into it, regardless of its dirt and its bleak, excessive -discomfort swarmed some three hundred of the _sinistrés_, there to -huddle the long winter away. - -As an example of its special attractions, let me tell you of one woman -who lived with her two children in a tiny room, the walls of which -streamed with damp, which had no fireplace, no heating possibilities of -any kind, and whose sole furniture consisted of a barrow and one thin -blanket. - -From the point of view of the Relief worker an ideal case. Beautiful -misery, you know. It could hardly be surpassed. - -A Society--a very modest Society; it has repeatedly warned me that -it dislikes publicity, so I heroically refrain from mentioning its -name[1]--swept down upon the ruins early in 1915, and taking possession -of one of the buildings at La Source, made the theatre its Common-room, -the billiard-room its bedroom, and a top-loft a general dumping-ground, -whose contents included a camp bed but no sheets, a tin basin and -jug, an apologetic towel and, let me think--I can't remember a -dressing-table or a mirror. It was a very modest Society, you remember, -and the sum of its vanity----? Well, it perpetrated the uniform. Let it -rest in peace. - - [1] It has, nevertheless, done work of inestimable value in France, in - Serbia and in Russia. - -Wherefore and because of which things a grey-clad apparition, moving -through the moonlight like some hideous spectre of woe, arrived that -warm June night at La Source, and was ushered into a room where -innumerable people were drinking cocoa, rushing about, talking--ye -gods, how they talked!--smoking.... I was more frightened than I have -ever been in my life. I am not used to crowds, and to my fevered -imagination every unit was a battalion. Then because I was hotter and -thirstier than a grain of sand in a sun-scorched desert, cocoa was -thrust upon me--_cocoa_! I drank it, loathing it, and wondered why -everybody seemed to be drinking out of the same mug. - -Then a young man seized my kit-bag. "Come along." My hair began to -rise. I had been prepared for a great deal, but this.... I looked at -the young man, he looked at me. The situation, at all events, did not -lack piquancy! It was indeed a Sentimental Journey that I was making, -and Sterne.... But the inimitable episode was not to repeat itself. My -only room-mate was a bat. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -FIRST IMPRESSIONS - - -I - -Sermaize, however, was not to be the scene of my future labours. The -honour was reserved for Bar-le-Duc, the captital city of the Meuse, -the seat of a Prefecture, and proud manufacturer of a very special -jam, "Confitures de Bar-le-Duc." The mouth waters at the very thought -of it, but desire develops a limp when you have seen the initial -processes of manufacture; for these consist in the removal by means of -a finely-cut quill of every pip from every currant about to be boiled -in the sacrificial pan. As you go through the streets in July you see -white and crimson patches on the ground. They look disgustingly like -something that has been chewed and spumed forth again. They are the -discarded currant pips, for only the skin and pulp are made into jam. - -This unpipping (have we any adequate translation for _épepiner_?), paid -for at the rate of about four sous a pound, is sometimes carried on -under the cleanliest of home conditions, but occasionally one sees a -group of women at work round a table that makes jam for the moment the -least appetising of comestibles. Nevertheless, if the good God ever -places a pot of Confiture de Bar-le-Duc upon your table, eat it; eat it -_à la Russe_ with a spoon--don't insult it with bread--and you will -become a god with nectar on your lips. - -There were about four thousand refugees in Bar. That is why I was there -too. And before I had been ten minutes in the town a hard-voiced woman -said, "Would you please carry those _seaux hygiéniques_ (sanitary -pails) upstairs?" So much for my anticipatory thrills. If I ever go to -heaven I shall be put in the back garden. - -_À la guerre, comme à la guerre._ I carried the pails--a work of -supererogation as it subsequently transpired, for they all had to be -brought down again promptly, so heavily were they in demand. - -For the sanitation of Bar-le-Duc has yet to be born.[2] One can't call -arrangements that date from the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries -sanitation, one can only call them self-advertisement. Until I went to -Bar I never knew that the air could be solid with smell. One might as -well walk up a sewer as up the Rue de l'Horloge on a hot day. Every -man, woman and child in the town ought to have died of diphtheria, -typhoid, septic poisoning, of a dozen gruesome diseases long ago. If -smells could kill, Bar would be as depopulated as the Dead Cities of -the Zuyder Zee. But the French seem to thrive on smells, though in all -fairness I must admit that once or twice a grumble reached me. But that -was when the cesspool under the window was discharging its contents -into the yard. - - [2] It is only fair to add that the whole question was under serious - consideration when the war broke out, and made reform, for the moment, - impossible. - -The hard-voiced woman was hygienically mad. She imported a Sanitary -Inspector, an ironic anomaly, who used to blush apoplectically through -meals because she would discuss the undiscussable with him. "I hope you -are not squeamish? We don't mind these things here," she said to me. -"It is so stupid to be a prude." - -Frankly, I could have slain that woman. She wasn't fit to live. The -climax came on a broiling day when we were all exhausted and not a -little sick from heat and smell. She pleasingly entertained us at -dinner with a graphic description of a tubercular hip which she had -been dressing. There was a manure heap outside the window of the sick -child's room. It crawled with flies. So did the room. So did the hip. - -She went back to the native sphere she should never have left a -few days later, but in the meantime she had obsessed us all with a -firm belief in the value of the _seau hygiénique_. Every refugee -family should have one. Our first care must be to provide it. The -obsession drove us into strange difficulties, as, for example, once -in a neighbouring village where, trusting to my companion to keep the -kindly but inquisitive Curé who accompanied us too deeply engaged in -conversation to hear what I was saying, I asked the mother of a large -family if she would like us to give her one. - -"Qu'est que c'est? What did you say?" - -Gentle as my murmur had been, M. le Curé was down on me like a shot. -The woman who hesitates is lost. Anything is better than embarrassment. -I repeated the question. - -"Ce n'est pas nécessaire. Il y a un jardin," was his electrifying -reply, and we filed out after him, with new ideas on French social -questions simmering in our heads. - -More embarrassing still, though, was a visit to a dear old couple -living high up in a small room in a narrow fœtid street. Madame Legrand -was a dear, with a round chubby face and the brightest of blue eyes, -a complexion like a rosy apple and dimples like a girl's. She wore a -spotlessly white mob-cap with a coquettish little frill round it, and -she was just as clean and as fresh and as sonsy as if she had stepped -out of her little cottage to go to Mass. Her husband was a rather -picturesque creature, with a crimson cummerbund round his waist. He -had been a _garde-forêt_, and together they had saved and scraped, -living frugally and decently, putting money by every year until at last -they were able to buy a cottage and an acre or two of land. Then the -war came and the Germans, and the cottage was burnt, and the poor old -things fled to Bar-le-Duc, homeless and beggared, possessed of nothing -in all the world but just the clothes on their backs. - -The _garde-forêt_ was talking to my companion. I broached the -all-important subject to Madame. - -"Vous avez un seau hygiénique?" (I admit it was vilely put.) - -"Mais oui, Mademoiselle. Voulez-vous ...?" Before I could stop her she -had flourished it out upon the floor. It seems there are no limits to -French hospitality, but there are to what even a commonplace English -woman can face with stoical calm. Lest worse befall we fled. Somehow -our sanitary researches lacked enthusiasm after that. - - -II - -"Bar-le-Duc, an ancient and historical city of the Meuse, is -beautifully situated on the banks of the Ornain." - -That, of course, is how I should have commenced Chapter III, and then, -with Baedekered solemnity, have described its streets, its canals, its -railway-station--a dull affair until a bomb blew its glass roof to -fragments; when it became quaintly skeletonic--its woods and hills, its -churches and its monuments. - -Only I never do anything quite as I ought to, and my capacity for -getting into mischief is unlimited. I can't bear the level highways of -Life, cut like a Route Nationale straight from point to point, white, -steam-rollered, respectable, horrible. For me the by-ways and the -lanes, the hedges smelling of wild roses and woodbine, or a-fire with -berry and burning leaf, the cross-cuts leading you know not whither, -but delightfully sure to surprise you in the end. What if the surprise -is sometimes in a bog, in the mire, or in a thicket of furze? More -often than not it is in Fairyland. - -And so grant me your indulgence if I wander a little, loitering in the -green meadows, plunging through the dim woods of experience. Especially -as I am going to be good now and explain Bar and the refugees. - -As I told you, there were some four thousand of them, from the -Argonne, the Ardennes, Luxembourg, and many a frontier village such -as Longuyon or Longwy. And Bar received them coldly. It dubbed them, -without distinction of person, "ces sales émigrés," forgetting that -the dirt and squalor of their appearance was due to adversity and not -to any fault of their own. Forgetting, too, that it had very nearly -been _émigré_ itself. For the Germans came within five miles of it. -From the town shells could be seen bursting high up the valley; the -blaze of burning villages reddened the evening sky. Trains poured out -laden with terrified inhabitants fearing the worst, all the hospitals -were evacuated, and down the roads from the battle, from Mussey, -from Vassincourt, from Laimont and Révigny came the wounded, a long -procession of maimed and broken men. They lay in the streets, on -door-steps, in the station-yard, they fell, dying, by canal and river -bank. Kindly women, thrusting their own fear aside, ministered to them, -the cannon thundering at their very door. And with the wounded came the -refugees. What a procession that must have been. Women have told me of -it. Told me how, after days--even weeks--of semi-starvation, lying in -the open at night, exposed to rain and sun, often unable to get even a -drink of water (for to their eternal shame many a village locked its -wells, refusing to open them even for parched and wailing children), -they found themselves caught in the backwash of the battle. To all the -other horrors of flight was added this. Men, it might be their own -sons, or husbands, or brothers, blood-stained remnants of humanity -plodding wearily, desperately down the road, while in the fields and in -the ditches lay mangled, encarnadined things that the very sun itself -must have shuddered to look upon. Old feeble men and women fell out and -died by the way, a mother carried her dead baby for three nights and -three days, for there was no one to bury it, and the God of Life robed -himself in the trappings of Death as he gathered exhausted mother and -new-born babe in his arms. - -And so they came to Bar. In the big dormitories of the Caserne Oudinot -straw was laid on the floor, and there they were lodged, some after a -night's rest to set wearily forth again, others to remain in the town, -for the tide had turned and the Germans were in retreat. - -There must have been an unusually large number of houses to let in Bar -before the war; many, we know, had been condemned by the authorities, -and, truth to tell, I don't wonder at it. "House to let" did not imply, -as you might suppose, that it was untenanted, especially if the house -was in the rue des Grangettes, or rue Oudinot, rue de Véel, or rue -de l'Horloge. The tenants paid no rent. They had been in possession -for years, possibly centuries. They were as numerous as the sands of -the sea-shore, and they had all the _élan_, the _joie de vivre_, the -vivacity and the tactical genius of the French nation. They welcomed -the unhappy refugees--I was going to say vociferously, remembering the -soldier who, billeted in a Kerry village, complained that the fleas sat -up and barked at him. - -The rooms, though dirty, unsanitary and swarming with the terror that -hoppeth in the noonday (there were other and even worse plagues as -well), were a shelter. The war would be over in three months, and -one would be going home again. In the meantime one could endure the -palliasse (a great sack filled with straw and laid on the floor, and on -which four, five, seven or even more people slept at night), one could -cower under the single blanket provided by the town, not undressing, -of course; that would be to perish. One could learn to share the -narrowest of quarters with nine, eleven, even fifteen other people; -one could tighten one's belt when hunger came--and it came very often -during those first hard months--but one could not endure the hostile -looks of the tradespeople, and the _sales émigrés_ spit at one in the -streets. - -The refugees, however, had one good friend; monsieur C., an ex-mayor of -the town and a man whose "heart was open as day to melting charity," -made their cause his own. And perhaps because of him, perhaps out of -its own good heart, the town, officially considered, did its best for -them. It gave them clean straw for their palliasses; it saw that no -room was without a stove; it established a market for them when it -discovered that the shopkeepers, exploiting misery, were scandalously -overcharging for their goods; it declined to take rent from mothers -with young families; and it appointed a doctor who gave medical -attention free. - -All very good and helpful, but mere drops in the bucket of refugee -needs. You see the war had caught them unawares, and at first, no -doubt for wise military reasons, the authorities discouraged flight. -People who might have packed up necessaries and escaped in good order -found themselves driven like cattle through the country, the Germans -at their heels, the smallest of bundles clutched under their arms, and -the gendarmes shouting "Vîte, Vîte, Depêchez-vous, depêchez-vous," till -reason itself trembled in the balance. - -Some, too, had remembered the war of _Soixante-Dix_, when the -Prussians, marching to victory, treated the civilians kindly. "They -passed through our village laughing and singing songs," old women have -told me. Some atrocities there were, even then; but, compared with -those of the present war, only the spasmodic outbursts of boyhood in a -rage. - -Consequently, flight was often delayed till the last moment, delayed -till it was too late, and, caught by the tide, some found themselves -prisoners behind the lines. Those who got away saved practically -nothing. Sometimes a few family papers, sometimes the _bas de laine_, -the storehouse of their savings, sometimes a change of linen, most -often nothing at all. - -"Mais rien, Mademoiselle. Je vous assure, rien du tout, du tout, du -tout. Pas ça," and with the familiar gesture a forefinger nail would -catch behind a front tooth and then click sharply outwards. When -talking to an excited Meusienne, it is well to be wary. One must not -stand too near, for she is sure to thrust her face close to your own, -and when the finger flies out it no longer answers to the helm. It -may end its unbridled career anywhere, and commit awful havoc in the -ending, for the nail of the Meusienne is not a nail, it is a talon. - -No wonder the poor souls needed help. No wonder they besieged our door -when the news went forth that "Les Anglaises" had come to town and were -distributing clothes and utensils, chairs, _garde-mangers_ (small safes -in which to keep their food, the fly pest being sheerly horrible), -sheets, blankets--anything and everything that destitute humanity needs -and is grateful for. Their faith in us, after a few months of work, -became profound. They believed we could evolve anything, anywhere and -at a moment's notice. If stern necessity obliged us to refuse, they had -a touching way of saying, "Eh bien, ce sera pour une autre fois"[3]--a -politeness which extricated them gracefully from a difficult position, -but left us struggling in the net of circumstance and unaccountably -convinced that when they called again "our purse, our person, our -extremest means would lie all unlocked to their occasion." - - [3] "Oh, well, you will give it to me another time." - - -III - -But these little amenities of relief only thrust themselves upon me -by degrees. At first, during the torrid summer weeks, everything was -so new and so strange there were no clean-cut outlines at all. Before -one impression had focused itself upon the mind another was claiming -place. My brain--if you could have examined it--must have looked like a -photographic plate exposed some dozens of times by a careless amateur. -From the general mistiness and blur only a few things stand out. The -stifling heat, the awful smells, the unending succession of weeping and -hysterical women, and last, but not least, _les puces_. - -Did you ever hear the story of the Irish farmer who said he "did not -grudge them their bite and their sup, but what he could not stand was -the continule thramping"? Well, the thramping was maddening. I believe -I never paid a visit to a refugee in those days without becoming the -exercising ground for light cavalry. People sitting quietly in our -Common-room working at case-papers would suddenly dash away, to come -back some minutes later in rage and exasperation. The cavalry still -manœuvred. A mere patrol of two or three could be dealt with, but the -poor wretch who had a regiment nearly qualified for a lunatic asylum. - -Every visit we paid renewed our afflictions, and the houses, old -and long untenanted, being so disgustingly dirty, we endured mental -agonies--in addition to physical ones--when we thought of the filth -from which the plague had come. Oddly enough, we did not suffer so much -the next summer, and we were mercifully spared the attentions of other -less active but even more horrible forms of entomological life. - -You see, it was a rule--and as experience proved a very wise rule--of -our Society that no help should be given unless the applicant had been -visited and full particulars of his, or her, condition ascertained. -Roughly speaking, we found out where he had come from, his previous -occupation and station in life, the size of his farm if he had one and -the amount of his stock, horses, cattle, sheep, pigs, poultry, rabbits, -etc.; we made notes on his housing conditions, tabulated the members of -his family, their ages and sex, their present employment and the amount -of wages earned. All of which took time. - -Armed with a notebook and pencil, we would sally forth, to grope our -way up pitch-dark staircases, knock at innumerable doors, dash past the -murky corner where the cesspool lay--I know houses in which it is under -the stairs--and at last run the refugee to earth. - -Then followed the usual routine. A chair--generally broken or minus a -back--or a stool dragged forth with an apology for its poverty: "Quand -on est émigrée, vous savez, Madame--ou Mademoiselle, je ne sais pas?" -and then the torrent. A word sufficed to unloose it. Only a fool would -try to stem it. - -"Ah, Mademoiselle, you do not know what I have suffered." - -So Madame would settle herself to the tale, and that was the moment -when ... when ... when doubt grew, then certainty, and "Half-a-league, -half-a-league, half-a-league onward" hammered an accompaniment on the -brain. - -In the evening we sorted out our notes and made up our case papers. -These latter should yield rich harvest to the future historian if -they are preserved, and if the good God has endowed him with a sense -of humour. He could make such delicious "copy" from them. For the -individuality of the worker stamped itself upon the papers even -more legibly than the biography of the case. There are lots of gems -scattered through them, but the one I like best lies in the column -headed Medical Relief, and runs as follows-- - - _Aug_. 26. Madame Guiot has pneumonia. Condition serious. - - _Aug_. 31. Madame quite comfortable. - - _Sept_. 2. Madame has died. (Nurse's initials appended.) - -In the papers you may read that such and such a house is infested -with vermin; that Mademoiselle Wurtz is said, by the neighbours, to -drink; that Madame Dablainville is filthy and lives like a pig; that -the life of Madame Hache falls regrettably below accepted standards -of morality; and that Madame Bontemps, who probably never owned three -pocket-handkerchiefs in her life, declares that she lost sixty pairs -of handspun linen sheets, four dozen chemises, and pillow and bolster -cases innumerable when the Germans burnt her home. - -You may also read how Mademoiselle Rose Perrotin was nursing a sick -father when the Boches took possession of her village; how the -Commandant ordered her to leave, and how she, with tears streaming -down her large fat face, begged to be allowed to remain. Her father -was dying. It was impossible to leave him. But German Commandants care -little for filial feelings. Mademoiselle Rose (a blossom withering -on its stem) had a figure like a monolith but a heart of gold. Even -though they shot her she would not go away. They did not shoot her. -They quietly placed her on the outskirts of the village and bade her -begone. Next day she crept back again. She prayed, she wept, she -implored, she entreated. When a monolith weeps even Emperors succumb. -So did the Commandant. A day, two days, passed, and then her father -died. They must have been very dreadful days, but worse was to follow. -No one would bury the dead Frenchman. She had to leave him lying -there--I gathered, however, that a grave was subsequently dug for him -in unconsecrated ground--and walk, and walk, and walk, mile after mile, -kilométre after kilométre, longing to weep, nay, to cascade tears; -but, "Figurez-vous, Mademoiselle. Ah, quelle misère. I had not got a -pocket-handkerchief!" - -That a father should die, that is Fate, but that one should not have -a pocket-handkerchief!... She wept afresh because she had not been -able to weep then, and I believe that I shall carry to my grave -a vision of stout, monolithic, utterly prosaic Mademoiselle Rose -toiling across half a Department of France weeping because she had no -pocket-handkerchief in which to mourn for her honoured dead. - -Or you may read of little André Moldinot, who was alone in the fields -when he saw the Germans coming, and who ran away, drifting he doesn't -know how to Bar-le-Duc, where he has remained in the care of kindly -people, hearing no news of his family, not knowing whether they are -alive or dead. Or of the old man, whose name I have forgotten--was it -Galzandat?--who fought with the English in the Crimea, and who lived -with fourteen other people (women and children) in a stifling hole in -the rue Polval. Or of that awful room in the street near the Canal -where thirty people ate and drank and slept and quarrelled a whole -winter through--a room unspeakable in its dirt and untidiness. Old rags -lay heaped on the floor, dirty crockery, potato, carrot and turnip -peelings littered the greasy table, big palliasses strewed the corners, -loathsome bedclothes crawling on them. On strings stretched from wall -to wall clothes were drying (one inmate was a washerwoman), an old -witch-like creature with matted, unkempt locks flitted about, and in -the far corner, on the day I went there, two priests were offering -ghostly counsel to a weeping woman. - -Misery makes strange bedfellows, and the cyclone of war flung together -people who, in ordinary circumstances, would have been far removed from -one another's orbit. At first the good and the bad, the clean and the -dirty, the thrifty and the drunken herded together, too wretched to -complain, too crushed and despondent to hope for better things. But -gradually temperament asserted itself, and one by one, as opportunity -arose and their circumstances improved, the respectable ceased to -rub elbows with the dissolute, and they found quarters of their own -either through their own exertions or through the help of their -friends. Monsieur C. and Madame B. (wise, witty, kindly Madame B.) were -especially energetic in this respect. - -So we soon began to feel comfortably assured that the tenants of -Maison Blanpain and of one or two other rookeries were the scum of the -refugee pool, idle, disreputable, swearing, undeserving vagabonds every -one. They took us in gloriously many a time, they fooled us to the top -of our sentimental bent--at first--but we could not have done without -them. For though Virtue may bathe the world in still, white light, it -is Vice that splashes the dancing colours over it. - - -IV - -Yes, I suppose we were taken in at times! - -On the outskirts of Bar, beyond the Faubourg Marbot, lies a wood called -the Bois de Maestricht. The way to it lies through a narrow winding -valley of great beauty, especially in the autumn when the fires of the -dying year are ablaze in wood and field. Just at the end of the road -where the woods crush down and engulf it is a long strip of meadow, a -nocturne in green and purple when the autumn crocus is in flower, and -in the woods are violets and wild strawberries, and long trails of -lesser periwinkle, ivy crimson and white, and hellebore and oxlips and -all sorts of delicious things, with, from just one point on one of the -countless uphill paths, a view of Bar, so exquisite, so ethereal it -almost seems like a glimpse of some far dream-silvered land. - -And it was here, just on the edge of the wood, in a small rough shack, -that Madame Martin and her family took up their abode. The shack -consisted of one room, not long and certainly not wide, a slice of -which, rudely partitioned off, did duty as a cow-house. Here lived -Madame Martin and her husband, her granddaughter Alice, a small boy -suffering from a malady which caused severe abdominal distention, and -one or two other children. Le Père Battin, whose relationship was -obscure but presumably deeply-rooted in the family soil, shared the -cow-end with his beloved _vache_, a noble beast and, like himself, a -refugee. - -Le Père Battin always averred that he had adopted the cow, it being -obviously an orphan, homeless and a beggar, but my own firm conviction -is that he stole it. It was a kindly cow and a generous, for it -proceeded speedily to enrich him with a calf which, unlike most refugee -babies, throve amazingly, and when I saw it took up so much space in -the narrow shed there was hardly room enough for its mother. How Le -Père Battin squeezed himself in as well is a pure wonder. But squeeze -he did, and when delicately suggesting that a gift of sheets from -"Les Anglaises" would completely assuage the miseries of his lot, he -showed me his bed. It was in the feeding-trough. One hurried glance was -enough. I no longer wondered why the first visitor to the Martin abode, -having unwisely settled down for a chat, spent the rest of the day and -the greater part of the night in fruitless chase. I did not settle -down. "It was fear, O Little Hunter, it was fear." - -Nor did I give the sheets. The cow would have eaten them. - -I remarked that the day was hot, and repaired to the garden (a -wilderness of weeds and despairing flowers), and there Madame -entertained me. - -She was an ideal "case." Just the person whose photograph should be -sent to kindly, generous souls at home. She was small, active, rather -witty, a good talker, with darting brown eyes and a bewitching grin. -She wore a befrilled cap, and oh, she could flatter with her tongue! -A nice old soul in spite of the villainy with which Père Battin -subsequently charged her. Her first visitor--she who unfortunately sat -down--fell a victim on the spot. So did we all. Heaven had made Madame -that way. It was inevitable. So all the riches of our earth were poured -forth for her, and she devoured largely of our substance. Then the girl -Alice developed throat trouble and was ministered to by our nurse, and -she, I grieve to say, coming home one day from the Bois, hinted dark -things about Alice--things which made our righteous judgment to stand -on end. We continued to pet Madame Martin; we did everything we could -for her except eat her jam. Having seen the shack, and le Père Battin -and that one overcrowded room where flies in dense black swarms settled -on everything, where dogs scratched and where age-old dirt gathered -more dirt to its arms with the dawning of every day, that jam pot -contained so many possibilities, we felt that to eat its contents would -be sheer murder. - -And so the autumn wore away and winter came, and then one day as I -was going through the valley to visit some woodcutters in the Bois, I -met le Père Battin driving home his cow. And he stopped me. Once when -speaking of the Emperor of Austria he had said, "Il est en train de -mourir? Bon. On a eu bien assez de ces lapins-là." (He is dying? Good. -We have had enough of such rabbits.) - -A man who can discuss an Emperor in such terms is not lightly to be -passed by, but I stood as far from him as possible. I did not till then -believe that anybody could be as dirty as Father Battin and live. - -But he thrust himself close, looking fearfully about him, sinking his -voice to a hoarse whisper. - -"Did I know the truth about the Martins? That Alice had gone to -Révigny? There were soldiers there." He nodded sapiently. "But Alice -was la vraie Comtesse de----" He mentioned a hyphenated name. "Yes. It -was true. She was married. A young man, a fool. Mon Dieu, but a fool. -She might live in a shack in the Bois and her grandmother might be an -old peasant woman, but she was a Comtesse, wife of the Comte de----." - -I took leave to suppose that Père Battin was mad. - -But he was circumstantial. "Yes. Her husband had left her. An affair -of a few weeks. Every gendarme in the town knew. And Madame knew. Knew -and made money out of it. Many a good franc she had put in her pocket. -But the gendarmes were watching, and one day the old woman and Alice -would...." Again he murmured unprintable things. - -"Monsieur, you are ridiculous." Alice Martin a Comtesse! No wonder I -laughed. But he insisted. He kept on repeating it. - -"La vraie Comtesse de----" But now she was.... - -The dark sayings of the district nurse came back to my mind and I -wondered. But Père Battin was offensive to ear and eye. I wished -him _bonjour_, watching him trailing down the path, his _vache_ -ruminatingly leading, and then went on my way to the wood. - -An hour later Madame Martin came running down the hill to greet me. She -had seen me go by and waited. In her hand was a bunch of flowers, the -best, least discouraged from her untended garden. - -"For Mademoiselle," she said, and as she held them out her smile -scattered gold dust upon my heart. - -Now do you think le Père Battin's story was true? - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -À TRAVERS BAR-LE-DUC - - -Whether it was or not, it has come rather too soon in my narrative, I -am afraid. It has carried me far away from the days when the quaint -individual charm of Bar-le-Duc began to assert itself, little by -little, slowly, but with such cumulative effect that in the end we grew -to love it. - -Our work took us into every lane and street, but it was the Ville-Haute -that I loved best. I wish I could describe it to you as it lies on the -hill; wish I could take you up the steep narrow lane that leads to the -rue St Jean, and then into the rue de l'Armurier which bends like a -giant S and is so narrow you fancy you could touch the houses on either -side by stretching out your arms. Small boys tobogganed down it in -the great frost last year. It was rare sport for the small boys, but -disastrous to sober-minded propriety which occasionally found that it, -too, was tobogganing--but not on a tray--and with an absence of grace -and premeditation that were devastating in their results. - -Indeed, the Ville-Haute was a death-trap during those weeks. There -were slides everywhere. The Place St Pierre was scarred with them, -the wonderful Place which, pear-shaped, wide at the top, narrowing to -its lower end, lies encircled in the arms of the rue des Dues de Bar -and of the rue des Grangettes. And at the top, commandingly in the -centre stands the church of St Pierre--once St Maze--where the famous -statue, the "Squelette," is now buried so many fathoms deep in sandbags -nothing can be seen of it at all. It is said that Mr. Edmund Gosse -once came to spend a night in Bar and was so bewitched by its beauty -he remained for several weeks, writing a charming little romance about -it in which the "Squelette" plays a prominent part. And, indeed, the -only way to know Bar is to live in it. It would be quite easy to tell -you of the Tour de l'Horloge standing on guard on the hill; of the -fifteenth-and sixteenth-century houses; of the Pont Nôtre Dame; of -the Canal des Usines which always reminded me of Bruges; of the river -winding through the Lower Town, tall poplars standing sentinel along -the banks; of the great canal that cuts a fine almost parallel to that -of the river and which, if only you followed it far enough, would bring -you at last to the Rhine; of winding Polval that is so exquisite in -snow and on a moonlit night, with its houses piled one above the other -like an old Italian town; or of the fine arched gate that leads to the -Place du Château and that led there when the stately Dukes of Bar held -court in the street that bears their name, and led there, too, when -Charles Stuart lived in the High Town and dreamed perhaps of a kingdom -beyond the seas. Of all these things and of the beautiful cloistered -sixteenth-century College in the rue Gilles de Trêves one might speak, -exhausting the mines of their adjectives and similes, but would you be -any closer to the soul of the town? I doubt it, and so I refrain from -description. For Bar depends for its beauty and its distinctive charm -on something more than mere outline. Colour, atmosphere, some ghostly -raiment of the past still clinging to its limbs, and over all the views -over the valley--yes, the soul is elusive and intangible; you will find -it most surely under the white rays of the moon. - -The views are simply intoxicating, but if you want to see one of the -finest you must make the acquaintance of a certain Madame--Madame, -shall we say, Schneider? Any name will do if only it is Teutonic -enough. She loomed upon our horizon as the purveyor of corduroy -trousers. Oh, not for a profit. She, _bien entendu_, was a -philanthropist disposing of the salvage of a large shop, the owner of -which was a refugee. The trousers being much needed at the moment we -bought them, but many months afterwards she came with serge garments -that were not even remotely connected with a refugee, so I am prone to -believe that she was not quite so disinterested as she would have had -us believe. - -To visit her you must climb to the Ville-Haute, and there in a house -panelled throughout (such woodwork--old, old, old--my very eyes water -at the thought of it), you will find a long low room with a wide window -springing like a balcony over the gulf that lies under the rue Chavé. -And from the window you can look far over the town which lies beneath -you, over the silver path of river and canal to the Côte Ste Catherine, -the steep hill, once a vineyard, that rises on the other side; you -can see the aviation ground, and you can follow the white ribbon of -road that runs past Naives to St Mihiel. And you can look up and down -the valley for miles--to Fains, to Mussey and beyond, on one hand to -Longeville, and Trouville on the other. And Marbot lies all unlocked -under your eyes, and Maestricht, and the beautiful hill over which, if -you are wise, you will one day walk to Resson. - -From Place Tribel, from innumerable coigns of vantage, the view is -equally beautiful, though not, I think, quite so extensive. Which, -perhaps coupled with her aggressively Teutonic name, accounted for the -suspicious looks cast last winter upon Madame Schneider. A spy! Oh, -yes, a devout Catholic always at the Mass, but a spy. Did she not leave -Bar on the very morning of the big air raid, returning that night? And -didn't every one know that she signalled by means of lights movements -of troops and of aeroplanes to other spies hidden on the hill beyond -Naives? The preposterous story gained ground. Then one day we thrilled -to hear that Madame Schneider had been arrested. She disappeared for a -while--we never knew whether anything had been proved against her--and -then when we had forgotten all about her I met her in the Place St -Pierre. She was coming out of the church, but she bowed her head and -passed by. - -Perhaps, after all this, you won't care to visit her? But then you -will go down to your grave sorrowing, because you will never see those -Boiseries, nor that view. - -Other things beside the beauty of the town began to creep into -prominence too, of course, and among them the supreme patience and -courage of our refugee women. In circumstances that might have crushed -the strongest they fought gamely and with few exceptions conquered. I -take my hat off to the French nation. We know how its men can fight, -some day I hope the world will know how its women can endure. Remember -that they were given no separation allowances until January 1915, and -the allowance when it did come was a pittance. One franc twenty-five -centimes per day for each adult, fifty centimes a day for each child up -to the age of sixteen; or, roughly speaking, 1_s._ a day and 4½_d._ -per day. What would our English women say to that? It barely sufficed -for food. Indeed, as time went on and prices rose I dare to say it did -not even suffice for food. The refugee woman, possessed of not one -stick of furniture--except in the case of farmers who were able to -bring away some household goods in their carts--of not one cup or plate -or jug or spoon, without needles, thread, or scissors, without even a -comb, and all too often without even a change of linen, had to manage -as best she could. That she did manage is the triumph of French thrift -and cleverness in turning everything to account. We heard of them -making _duvets_ by filling sacks with dried leaves; one woman actually -collected enough thistle-down for the purpose. They clung desperately -to their standards, they would trudge miles to the woods in order to -get a faggot for their fire, they took any and every kind of work that -offered, they refused to become submerged. - -And gradually they began to assume individuality. Families and family -histories began to limn themselves on the brain as did the life of the -streets, things as well as people. - -Some of these histories I must tell you later on; to-night, for some -odd reason, little Mademoiselle Froment is in my mind. She was not a -refugee, but I owe her a debt of eternal gratitude, for when I fled -to her immediately on arrival she condoled with me in my sartorial -afflictions and promptly made me garments in which without shame I -could worship the Goddess of Reason. Later on the uniform was chopped -up and re-made, becoming wearable, but never smart. Even French magic -could not accomplish that. - -Poor little Mademoiselle Froment, so patient with all my ignorances, -my complete inability to understand the value of what she called "le -mouvement" of my gown, and my hurried dips into Bellows as she volubly -discursed of the fashions. Last summer when she was making me some more -clothes she was sad indeed. Her only and adored brother, who had passed -scatheless through the inferno at Verdun, was killed on the Somme. - -"My hurried dips into Bellows." Does that mean anything, or does it -sound like transcendental nonsense? Bellows, by the way, is not a thing -to blow the fire with, it is a dictionary--a pocket dictionary worth -its weight in good red gold. And to my copy hangs a tale. Can you -endure a little autobiography? - -During my week-end at Sermaize I heard more French than I had heard, -I suppose, in all my life before, or at least I heard new words in -such bewildering profusion that I really believe Bellows saved my -life. I carried him about, I referred to him at frequent intervals. -I flatter myself that with his aid I made myself intelligible even -when discussing the technique of agriculture and other such abstruse -subjects. - -But it is Bellows' deplorable misfortune to look rather like a Prayer -Book, or a Bible. And so it befell that when I had been some weeks -at Bar a Sermaizian Relief Worker made anxious inquiries as to my -character. "She seems such an odd sort of person because, though she -reads her Bible ostentatiously in public, she smokes, and we once heard -her say...." After all, does it really matter what they heard me say? - -After which confession of my sins I must tell you about the Temple, -the shrine of French Protestantism in Bar. There we stood up to -pray, and we sat down to sing the most lugubrious hymns it has ever -been my lot to listen to. The church is large, and the congregation -is small. On the hottest day in summer it struck chill, in winter -it was a refrigerator. The pastor, being _mobilisé_, his place was -generally taken by an earnest and I am sure devout being, who having -congratulated the present generation, the first time I went there, -upon having been chosen to defend the cause of justice and of truth, -proceeded to dwell with the most heartrending emphasis upon every -detail of the suffering and sorrow the war--the defence upon which -he congratulated us!--has caused. He spared us nothing. Not even the -shell-riven soldier with white face upturned questioningly to the -stars. Not even the fear-racked mother or wife to whom one day the -dreaded message comes. Then when he had reduced every one to abysmal -depression and many to silent pitiful tears, he cried, "Soyez des -optimistes," and seemed to think that the crying would suffice. Why? -Ah, don't ask me that! Perhaps the war is too big a thing for the -preachers to handle. The platitudes of years have been drowned by the -mutter of the guns and the long sad wail of broken, shattered humanity. - -Yes, the Temple depressed me. Writing of it even now sends me into the -profundities. It was all so cheerless, so dreary. In spite of the drop -of Huguenot blood in my veins, the Temple and I are in nothing akin. - -So let us away--away from the cold shadows and the cheerless creed, -from the joyless God and the altar where Beauty lies dead, out into -the boulevard where the trees are in leaf and the sun is shining, and -where you may see a regiment go by in its horizon blue, or a battery of -artillery with its camouflaged guns. Smoke is pouring from the chimney -of the regimental kitchen, how jolly it looks curling up against the -sky! and sitting by the driver of the third ammunition cart is a fox -terrier who knows so much about war he will be a field-marshal when he -lives again. Or we may see a team of woodcutters with the trunks of -mighty trees slung on axles with great chains and drawn tandemwise by -two or three horses, and hear the lame newsvendor at the corner near -l'église St Jean calling his "Le Gé, le Pay-Gé, et le Petit-Parisien." -Pronounce the g soft in Gé, of course, for it stands for _Le Journal_, -and Pay-Gé for _Le Petit Journal_, all of which, together with the -_Continental Daily Mail_, can be bought in Bar each day shortly after -one o'clock unless the trains happen to be running late. During the -Verdun rush they sometimes did not arrive at all. - -A more musical cry, however, is that of the rabbit-skin man, "Peau -de li-è-vre, Peau de li-è-vre," with a delicious lilting cadence on -li-è-vre. I never discovered what he gave in exchange for the skins, -but it was certainly not money. - -Or the Tambour may take up his position at the corner of the street, -the Tambour who swells with pride and civic dignity. A sharp tap-tap -on his drum, the crowd collects and then in a hoarse roar he shouts -his decree. It may concern mad dogs, or the water supply, or the day -on which the _allocation_ will be given to the _emigrés_, or it may -be instructions how to behave during an air raid. Whatever it is, -it is extremely difficult to make sense of it, as a motor-car and a -huge military lorry are sure to crash past as he roars. But nothing -disconcerts him. He shouts to his appointed end, and then with a -swaggering roll on his drum marches off to the next street-crossing. - -If luck is with us as we prowl along we may see--and, oh, it is indeed -a vision!--our butcheress Marguerite dive into a neighbouring shop. -Dive in such a connection is a poetic license, for if a description -of Marguerite must begin in military phrase it must equally surely -end in architectural. If on the front there were two strong salients, -in the rear was a flying buttress. Marguerite--delicious irony of -nomenclature--was exceedingly short, her hair was black as a raven's -wing, her eyes were brown, and her cheeks, full-blown, were red as a -ripe, ripe cherry. Over the salients she wore vast tracts of white -apron plentifully besmeared with blood. So were her hands, so was her -shop. It was the goriest butchery I have ever seen. As "Madame" (I -shall tell you about her later on) did all our shopping, it was my -fortune to visit Marguerite but once a month. Had I been obliged to -visit her twice I should now be a vegetarian living on nuts. - -Sometimes Marguerite cast aside the loathsome evidences of her trade -and donned a smart black costume and a velvet hat with feathers in -it. Then indeed she was the vision radiant, and never shall I forget -meeting her on the boulevard one day when a covey of Taubes were -bombing the town. Hearing something like a traction-engine snorting -behind me, I turned and beheld Marguerite, whose walk was a fat, -plethoric waddle, panting down the street. Every feather in her hat was -stiff with fright, her mouth was open, she was breathing like a man -under an anæsthetic, and--by the transcendental gods I swear it!--the -buttress was flying. Marguerite RAN. - -But she has a soul, though you may not believe it. She must have, for -on the reeking offal-strewn table that adorns her shop she sets almost -daily a vase of flowers. Perhaps in spite of her offensive messiness -she doesn't really enjoy being a butcher. - -During that first summer, although so near the Front, Bar was rather a -quiet place where soldiers--Territorials?--in all sorts of odd uniforms -drifted by (I once saw a man in a red cap, a khaki coat, blue trousers -and knee-high yellow boots), while civilians went placidly about -their affairs. Our flat was on the Boulevard de la Rochelle, and so -on the high road to Verdun and St Mihiel, a stroke of good luck that -sometimes interfered sadly with our work. For many a regiment went -marching by, sometimes with colours flying and bands playing, gay and -gallant, impertinent, jolly fellows with a quip for every petticoat in -the street and a lightly blown kiss for every face at a window. But -there were days when no light jest set the women giggling, days when -the marching men were beaten to the very earth with weariness, stained -with mud, bowed beneath their packs, eyes set straight in front of -them, seeing nothing but the interminable road, the road that led from -the trenches and--at last--to rest. Far away we could hear the ominous -mutter of the guns, now rising, now falling, now catching up earth and -air and sky into a wild clamour of sound. No need to ask why the men -did not look up as they went by, no need to wonder at the strained, -set faces. Perhaps in their ears as in ours there rang, high above the -dull heavy burden of the cannon-song, the thin chanting of the priests -who, so many desolate times a day, trod the road that leads to the -Garden of Sacrifice where sleep so many of the sons of France. Ah, I -can hear them now, and see the pitiful little processions winding down -from every quarter of the town, the priest mechanically chanting, a few -soldiers grouped round the coffin, a weeping woman or two following -close behind. Of late--since Verdun, I think--the tiny guard of honour -no longer treads the road, and the friendless soldier dying far from -home goes alone to his last resting-place upon the hill. - -There the open graves are always waiting. The wooden black crosses -have spread far out over the hill-side, climbing up and across till no -one dare estimate their number. Five thousand, a grave-digger told us -long, long ago. Since then Verdun has written her name in blood across -the sky, Verdun impregnable because her rampart was the heart of the -manhood of France, Verdun supreme because the flower of that manhood -laid down their lives in order to keep her so. - -Yes, the chanting of the priests brings an odd lump into one's throat, -but one day we saw a little ceremony that moved us more deeply still. - -It was early morning, a strain of martial music rose on the air. We -hurried to the windows and saw a company of soldiers coming down the -boulevard. They passed our house, marched to the far end, halted, -and then turning, ranged themselves in a great semicircle beyond the -window. To say that their movements lacked the cleanness and precision -which an English regiment would have shown is to put the matter mildly. -Their business was to form three sides of a square. They formed it, -shuffling and dodging, elbowing, scraping their feet, falling into -their places by the Grace of God while a fat fussy officer skirmished -about for all the world like an agitated curate at a Sunday School -treat. - -The fourth side of the square consisted of the pavement and a crowd of -women, children and lads, a crowd with a gap in the middle where, like -a rock rising above the waters of sympathy, stood two chairs on which -two soldiers, _mutilés de la guerre_, were sitting. Brave men both. -They had distinguished themselves in fight, and this morning France was -to do them honour. - -An officer read aloud something we could not hear, and then a general -stepped forward and pinned the Croix de Guerre upon their breasts, and -colonels and staff officers shook them by the hand, and the band broke -into the Marseillaise and the watching crowd tried to raise a cheer. -But their voice died in their throat, no sound would come, for the -Song of the Guns was in their ears and out across the hills their own -men were fighting, to come home to them, perhaps, one day as these men -had come, or it might be never to come home at all. The cheer became a -sob, the voice of a stricken nation, of suffering heart-sick womanhood -waiting ... waiting. - -So the band played a lively tune and the soldiers marched away, -the crowd melted silently about its daily work and for a time the -boulevard was deserted, deserted save for him who sat huddled into his -deep arm-chair, the Croix de Guerre upon his breast and the pitiless -sunlight streaming down upon the pavements he would never tread again. - -A few weeks later the bands march by again. It is evening, and the -shadows are lengthening. We mingle with the crowd and see a tall, stern -man with aloof, inflexible, unsmiling face pass up and down the lines -of the guard of honour drawn up to receive him. A shorter, stouter man -is at his side. - -"Vive Kitchenaire!" - -The densely packed crowds take up the cry. "Vive l'Angleterre!" Ah, it -is God Save the King that the band is playing now. "Vive Kitchenaire." -Again the shout goes up. The short, stout man greets the crowd, and -a mighty roar responds. "Vive Joffre." He smiles, but his companion -never unbends. As the glorious Marseillaise thunders on the air, with -unseeing eyes and ears that surely do not hear he turns away, and the -dark passage of the house swallows him up. - -"Vive Kitchenaire!" - -The echoes have hardly died away when a tear-choked voice greets me. -"Ah, Mademoiselle, but the news is bad to-day." Tears are rolling down -the little Frenchwoman's face. So deep is her grief I fear a personal -loss. But she shakes her head. No, it is not that. She hands me a paper -and, stunned, I read the news. As I cross the street and turn towards -home the world seems shadowed. Sorrow has drawn her veils closely about -the town--sorrow for the man whom it trusted and whose privilege it had -been to honour. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -SETTLING-IN - - -Our first duty on arriving in the town was to go to the Bureau de -Police and ask for a _permis de séjour_. We understood that without it -there would be short shrift and a shorter journey into a world which -has not yet been surveyed. So we sallied forth to the Bureau at break -of day, and there we interviewed an old _grognard_--the only really -grumpy person I met in France--who scowled at us and scolded us and -called the devil to witness that these English names are barbarous, the -chatter of monkeys, unintelligible to any civilised ear. We soothed -him with shaking knees; suppose he refused us permission to reside -in the town? And presently he melted. He never really liquified, -you know, there was always a crust; but once or twice on subsequent -occasions a drop, just a teeny, weeny drop of the milk of human -kindness oozed through. He demanded our photographs, and when he saw -my "finished-while-you-wait" his belief in our Simian ancestry took -indestructible form. The number of my photographs now scattered over -France on imposing documents is incalculable, and the number of times -I have had to howl my age into unsympathetic ears so great that all my -natural modesty in dealing with so delicate a subject has wilted away. - -The _grognard_ dismissed us at length, feeling like the worm that -perisheth, and a fortnight or so later presented us with our _permis de -séjour_ (which warned us that any infringement of its regulations would -expose us to immediate arrest as spies), and with an esoteric document -called an _Extrait du Registre d'Immatriculation_ whose purpose in -history we were never able to determine. No one ever asked to see it, -no one ever asked to see our _permis de séjour_, in fact the gendarmes -of the town showed a reprehensible lack of interest in our proceedings. - -In addition to these we were provided as time went on with a _carte -d'identité_, a permission to circulate on a bicycle in districts -specified, a permission to take photographs not of military interest, -and later on with a _carnet d'étranger_ which gripped us in a tight -fist, kept us at the end of a very short chain, and made us rue the day -we were born. And of course we had our passports as well. - -Not being a cyclist, I used that particular permission when tramping -on the Sabbath beyond the confines of the town. Once a bright military -star tried to stop some one who followed my example. "It is a -permission to cycle. You are on foot," he argued. - -"But the bicycle could not get here without me," she replied, and her -merciless logic dimmed his light. - -As for me, I carried all my papers on all occasions that took me past -a sentry. It offended my freeborn British independence to be held up -by a blue-coated creature with a bayonet in his hand on a road that I -choose to grace with my presence, and so I took a mild revenge. The -stoutest sentry quailed before such evidence of rectitude, and indeed -we secretly believed that sheer curiosity prompted many a "Halte-là." - -Once as I trudged a road far from Bar two gorgeous individuals mounted -on prancing chargers swept past me. A moment later they drew rein, and -with those eyes of seventh sense that are at the back of every woman's -head I knew they were studying my retreating form. A lunatic or a spy? -Surely only one or the other would wear that grey dress. A shout, -"Holà." I marched on. If French military police wish to accost me they -must observe at least a measure of propriety. Again the "Holà." My -shoulders crinkled. Would a bullet whiz between? A thunder of galloping -hoofs, a horse racing by in a cloud of dust, a swirl and a gendarme -majestically barring the way. - -"Where are you going, Madame?" - -Stifling a desire to ask what business it was of his, I replied -suavely-- - -"To Bar-le-Duc." - -"Bar-le-Duc? But it is miles from here." - -"Eh bien? What of it? On se promene." - -"I must ask to see your papers." - -Out they all came, a goodly bunch. He took them, appalled. He fingered -them; he stared. - -"Madame is English?" - -"But certainly? What did Monsieur suppose?" - -The papers are thrust into my hand, he salutes, flicks his horse with a -spur, and I am alone on the undulating road with the woods just touched -by spring's soft wing, spreading all about me. - -But this happened when sentries and bayonets had lost their terror. -There were days when we treated them with more respect. Familiarity -breeds contempt--when one knows that the bayonet is not sharpened. - -Our papers in order, our heads no longer wobbling on our shoulders, -our next duty was to call on the _élite_ of the town. In France you -don't wait to be called upon, you call. It was nerve-racking work for -two miserable foreigners, one of whom had almost no French, while that -of the other abjectly deserted her in moments of perturbation. But we -survived it, perhaps because every one was out. Only at Madame B.'s -did we find people at home, and she--how she must have sighed when we -departed! We all laboured heavily in the vineyard, but fright, shyness, -the barrier of language prevented us--on that day at least--from -gathering much fruit. Exhausted, humbled to the dust, thinking of all -the brilliant things we might have said if only we could have taken -the invaluable Bellows with us, we crawled home to seek comfort in -a _brioche de Lorraine_ and a cup of China tea which we had to make -for ourselves, as "Madame" had not yet learned the method. In fact -there were many things she had not learned, and one of them was what -the English understand by the word rubbish. It was a subject on which -for many a day her views and ours unhappily rarely coincided. Once -we caught her in the Common-room, casting baleful eyes on cherished -treasures. - -"Do you wish that I shall throw away these _ordures_, Mademoiselle?" -she asked. - -ORDURES! Ye gods! A bucketful of gladioli and stocks and all sorts -of delicious things gathered in the curé's garden at Naives, and she -called them _ordures_. With a shriek we fell upon her and her broom. -Did she not know they were flowers? What devil of ignorance possessed -her that she should call them rubbish? - -"Flowers! _bien entendu_, but what does one want with flowers in a -sitting-room? The petals fall, they are _des ordures_." Again the -insulting word. - -"Don't you _like_ flowers, Madame?" we asked, and she turned resigned -eyes to ours. These English! Perhaps the good God who made them -understood them, but as for her, Odille Drouet ... With a shrug she -consigned us to the limbo of the inscrutable. A garden was the place -for flowers, why should we bring them into the house? - -French logic. Why, indeed? - -Madame never understood us, but I think she grew to tolerate us in the -end, and perhaps even to like us a little for our own queer sakes. -Once, when she had been with us for a few weeks, she exclaimed so -bitterly, "I wish I had never seen the English," we wondered what we -could possibly have done to offend her. Agitated inquiries relieved -our minds. We were merely a disagreeable incident of the war. If the -Germans had not pillaged France we would not have come to Bar-le-Duc. -Cause and effect linked us with the Boche in her mind, and I think she -never looked at us without seeing the Crown Prince leering over our -shoulder. - -A woman of strange passivity of temper, a fatalist--like so many of -her countrymen--she had a face that Botticelli would have worshipped. -Masses of dark hair exquisitely neat were coiled on her head (why, -oh why, do our English women wear hats? Is not half a French woman's -attraction in the simple dignity of the uncovered head? I never -realised the vulgarising properties of hat till I lived in France), her -eyes were dark, her brows delicately pencilled, her features regular. -Gentleness, resignation, patience were all we saw in her. She had one -of the saddest faces I have ever seen. - -No doubt she had good reason to be sad. Her husband, a well-to-do -farmer, died of consumption in the years before the war, and she who -now cooked and scrubbed and dusted and tidied for us once drove her own -buggy, once ruled a comfortable house and superintended the vagaries -of three servants. In her fine old cupboards were stores of handspun -linen sheets, sixty pairs at least, and ten or twelve dozen handspun, -handmade chemises. Six _lits montés_ testified to the luxury of her -home; on the walls hung rare pottery, Lunéville, Sarréguemin and the -like. - -A _lit monté_ is a definite sign of affluence, and well it may be so. -The French understand at least two things thoroughly--sauces and beds. -Incidentally I believe that the French woman does not exist who cannot -make a good omelette. I saw one made once in five minutes over a smoky -wood fire, the pan poised scientifically on two or three crosswise -sticks. An English woman cooking on such an altar would have offered -us an imitation of chamois leather, charred, toughened and impregnated -with smoke. Madame the wife of the Mayor of Vavincourt offered us--dare -I describe it? Perhaps one day I shall write a sonnet to that omelette; -it must not be dishonoured in prose. - -Yes, the French can cook, and they can make beds, and unless you have -stretched your wearied limbs in a real _lit monté_, unless you have -sunk fathoms deep in its downy nest and have felt the light, exquisite -warmth of the _duvet_ steal through your limbs, you have never known -what comfort is. - -You gaze at it with awe when you see it first, wondering how you are to -get in. I know women who had to climb upon a chair every night in order -to scale the feathery heights. For my own part, being long of limb, I -found a flying leap the most graceful means of access, but there are -connoisseurs who recommend a short ladder. - -Piled on the top of a palliasse and a mattress are a huge bed of -feathers, spotless sheets, a single blanket, a coverlet, and then the -crimson silk-covered _duvet_, over which is spread a canopy of lace. -The cost must be fabulous, though oddly enough no one ever mentioned -a probable price. But no refugee can speak of her lost _lits montés_ -without tears. - -Madame had six of them, and cattle in her byre, and horses in her -stable, and all the costly implements of a well-stocked farm. Yet for -months she lived with her little girl, her father, and her mother in a -single room in the Place de la Halle, a dark, narrow, grimy room that -no soap and water could clean. Her bed was a sack of straw laid upon -the ground, and--until the Society provided them--she had no sheets, -no pillow-cases, indeed I doubt if she even had a pillow. Her farm is -razed to the ground, and no doubt some fat unimaginative sausage-filled -Hausfrau sleeps under her sheets and cuddles contentedly under her -_duvet_ o' nights. - -The little party of four were six weeks on the road to Bar from that -farm beyond Montfaucon, and during the whole time they never ate hot -food and rarely cooked food. No wonder Madame seldom laughed--those -weeks of haunting fear and present misery were never forgotten--no -wonder it was months before we shook her out of her settled apathy and -saw some life, some animation grow again in her quiet face. - -If sometimes we felt inclined to shake her for other reasons than those -of humanity her caution was to blame. Never did she commit herself. To -every question inviting an opinion she returned the same exasperating -reply, "C'est comme vous voulez, Mademoiselle." I believe if we had -asked her to buy antelopes' tongues and kangaroos' tails for dinner she -would have replied equably, tonelessly, "C'est comme vous voulez." - -Whether the point at issue was a warm winter jacket, or a table, or a -holiday on the Sabbath, or cabbage for dinner, the answer was always -the same. Once in a moment of excitement--but this was when she had got -used to us, and found we were not so awful as we looked--she exclaimed, -"Oh, mais taisez-vous, Mademoiselle," and we felt as if an earthquake -had riven the town. - -Later she developed a quiet humour, but she always remained aloof. -Unlike Madame Philipot who succeeded her, she never showed the least -interest in the refugees who besieged our door. "C'est une dame." The -head insinuated through the door would be withdrawn and we left to -the joys of conjecture. The "lady" might be that ragged villain from -the rue Phulpin, wife of a shepherd, a drunken dissolute vagabond who -pawned her all for liquor, or it might be Madame B., while "C'est un -Monsieur" might conceal a General of Division, or the Service de Ville -claiming two francs for delivery of a parcel, in its cryptic folds. - -She had no curiosity, vulgar or intellectual, that we could discover. -She was invariably patient, sweet-tempered, gentle of voice, courteous -of phrase. She came to her work punctually at seven; going home, unless -cataclysms happened, at twelve. If the cataclysms did occur, even -through no fault of our own, we felt as guilty as if we had murdered -babies in their sleep, Madame being an orderly soul who detested -irregularity. And punctually at half-past four she would come back -again, cook the dinner, wash up _la vaisselle_ and quietly disappear at -eight. - -The manner of her going was characteristic. - -French women seem to have a horror of being out alone after dark -(perhaps they have excellent reason for it, they know their countrymen -better than I do), and Madame was no exception to the rule. Perhaps she -was merely bowing her head to national code, the rigid _comme il faut_, -perhaps it was a question of temperament. Anyway the fact emerged, -Madame would not walk home alone. Who, then, should accompany her? Her -parents were old and nearly bedridden, she had no husband, brother, or -friend. The crazy English who careered about at all hours of the day -and night? We had our work to do. - -Juliana was ordered to fetch her. This savouring of adventure and -responsibility fell in with Juliana's mood. She consented. Now she -was her mother's younger daughter and her age was twelve. Can you -understand the psychology of it? This is how I read it. A child was -safe on the soldier-frequented road, a mother with her child would not -be intercepted, but a good-looking woman alone--well, as the French -say, that was quite another _paire de bottines_. - -What would have happened had Juliana declined the honour, I simply -dare not conjecture. For that damsel did precisely as she pleased. Her -mother's passivity, fatalism, call it what you will, was the mainspring -of all her relations with her children. "Que voulez-vous? She wishes -it." Or quite simply, "Juliana does not wish it," closed the door -against all remonstrance. Madame was a strong-willed woman, she never -yielded an iota to us, but her children ruled. When the elder girl, -aged fourteen and well-placed with a good family in Paris, came to Bar -for a fortnight and then refused to go back, Madame shrugged. Some one -in Paris may have been, indeed was, seriously inconvenienced, but "Que -voulez-vous?" - -"Don't you wish her to go back, Madame?" - -"But certainly. What should she do here? It is not fit for a young -girl, but que voul----" We fled. - -Parental authority seems to be a negligible quantity in France. So far -as I could see children did very much as they liked, and were often -spoiled to the verge of objectionableness. Yet the steadfastness, -courage, thoughtfulness and whole-souled sanity of many a young -girl--or a child--would put older and wiser heads to shame. - -A puzzling people, these French, who refute to-morrow nearly every -opinion they tempt you to formulate about them to-day. - -If English women struggling with "chars" and "generals" knew the value -of a French _femme de ménage_ there would be a stampede across the -Channel in search of her. She does your marketing much more cheaply -than you could do it yourself, she keeps her accounts neatly, she is -punctual, scrupulously honest, dependable and trustworthy. She may -not be clean with British cleanness, her dusting may be superficial -(her own phrase, "passer un torchon," aptly describes it), but she -understands comfort, and in nearly twenty months' experience of her I -never knew a dinner spoiled or a dish unpalatably served. - -Of course it is arguable that Madame was not a _femme de ménage_, nor -of the servant class at all. Granted! But there were others. There was -the _bonne à tout faire_ (general servant) of the old curé at N. who -ruled him with a rod of iron and cooked him dinners fit for a king. -And there was Eugénie, the Abbé B.'s Eugénie, who, loving him with a -dog-like devotion, was his counsellor and his friend. She corrected -him for his good when she thought he needed it, but she mothered and -cared for him in his exile from his loved village--French trenches run -through it to-day--as only a single-minded woman could. - -Yes, Madame--whether ours or some one else's--is a treasure, and we -guarded ours as the apple of our eye. There were moments when we -positively cringed before her, so afraid were we that she might leave -us; for she hated cooking, hers having always been the life of the -fields, and though no self-respecting Frenchwoman regards herself as -a servant or as a menial, there must have been many hours when the -cruelty of her position bit deep. Nevertheless she bore with us for -a year, and then the air raids began. And the air raids shattered -the nerves of Juliana--a brave little soul, but delicate (we feared -tainted with her father's malady); and flight in the night to the -nearest cellar, unfortunately some distance away, brought the shadow -of Death too close to the home. So the elders counselled flight. -Juliana begged to be taken away. Madame wished to remain. The matter -hung in uncertainty for some days, then eight alarms and two raids in -twenty-four hours settled it. - -The alarms began on Friday morning; on Saturday Madame told us that -the old people would stay in Bar no longer and she had applied for the -necessary papers. They were going south to the Ain on the morrow. Not -a word of regret or apology for leaving us at a moment's notice, or -for giving us no time in which to replace her. Why apologise since she -could neither alter nor prevent? She went through no wish of her own, -went at midday, just walked out as she had done every day for a year, -but came back next morning to say good-bye and ask us to store some -odds and ends. When she had a settled address would we send them on? - -So she went away, and our memory of her is of one who never fought -circumstances, never wrestled with Fate. When the storms beat upon her, -when rude winds blew, she bowed her head and allowed them to carry her -where they listed. I think the spring of her life must have broken -on that August day when she turned her cattle out on the fields and, -closing the door behind her, walked out of her house for ever. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -THE BASKET-MAKERS OF VAUX-LES-PALAMIES - - -The long hot days of summer pursued their stifling way, yet were all -too short for the work we had in hand. There were families to be -visited, case-papers to be written up, card-indexes to be filled in, -and bales to be unpacked. There were clothes to be sorted, there were -people in their hundreds to be fitted with coats and trousers and -shirts and underlinen and skirts and blouses, and the thousand and one -things to be coped with in the Clothes-room. When Satan visits Relief -workers he always lives in the Clothes-room. And there he takes a -malicious delight in turning the contents of the shelves upside down -and in hiding from view the outfit you chose so carefully yesterday -evening for Madame Hougelot, or Madame Collignon, so that when you come -to look for it in the morning, lo! it is gone. And Madame is waiting -with her six children on the stairs, and the hall is a whirlpool of -slowly-circling humanity, who want everything under the sun and much -that is above it. - -Truly the way of the Relief worker is hard. But it has its -compensations. You live for a month, for instance, on one exquisite -episode. You are giving a party; you have invited some fifteen hundred -guests. You spread them out over several days, _bien entendu_, and -in the generosity of your heart you decide that each shall have a -present. You sit at the receipt of custom, issuing your cards with the -name of each guest written thereon, and to you comes Madame Ponnain. -(That is not her real name, but it serves.) Yes, she is a refugee and -she has two children. She would like three cards. _Bon._ You inscribe -her name, you gaze at her questioningly. - -"There is Georgette, she has two years." - -_Bon._ Georgette is inscribed. - -And then? - -Madame hesitates. There is the baby. - -_Bon._ His are? - -"Eh bien, il n'est pas encore au monde." - -You suggest that the unborn cannot ... - -"Mais mademoiselle--si il y a des étrennes (gifts)?" - -Perhaps, perhaps; one doesn't know. The Ponnains were a people of much -discrimination. He might arrive in time. _Quel dommage_, then, if he -had no ticket! - -He discriminated. - -He gets his ticket, and you register anew your homage to French -foresightfulness and thrift. - -And then you go back to the Clothes-room. You climb over mountains of -petticoats and chemises, all of the same size and all made to fit a -child of three. There are thousands of them, they obsess you. You dream -at night that you are smothering under a hill of petticoats while irate -refugees, whose children are all over five and half-naked, hurl the -chemises and--other things at you, uttering round French maledictions -in ear-splitting tones. You wade through the wretched things, you eat -them, sleep them; your brain reels, you say things about work-parties -which, if published, would cause an explosion, and the Pope would -excommunicate you and the Foreign Office hand you your passports. You -write frantic letters to headquarters, then you grow cold, waxing -sarcastic. You hint that marriage as an institution existed in France -before 1912, and that the first baby was not born in that year of -blindfold peace. And you add a rider to the effect that many, indeed -most, of your cherished _émigrées_ are not slum-dwellers fighting for -rags at a jumble sale, but respectable people who don't go about in -ragged trousers or with splashes of brown or yellow paint on a blue -serge dress. Then you are conscience-stricken, for some of the bales -have been packed by Sanity, and the contents collected by Reason. There -are many white crows in the flock. - -A ring at the door interrupts, perhaps happily, your epistolary -labours. It is the Service de Ville, a surly person but faithful. He -has six bales. They are immense. You go down, you try to roll one up -the stairs. Your comrade in labour is four feet six and weighs seven -stone. The bale weighs--or seems to weigh--a ton. Sisyphus is not -more impotent than you. Then an angel appears. It is Madame. "I heard -the efforts," she remarks, and indeed our puffings and pantings and -blowings and swearings must have been audible almost at the Front. -She puts her solid shoulder under the bale. It floats lightly up the -stairs. Then you begin to unpack. It is dirty work, and destroys the -whiteness of your hands. Never mind. Remember _les pauvres émigrées_, -and that we are _si devouée_, you know. - -Everything under heaven has, I verily believe, come at one time or -another out of our bales--except live stock and joints of beef. -Concertinas in senile decay, mandolines without keys, guitars without -strings, jam leaking over a velvet gown, tons of old newspapers -and magazines--all English, of course, and subsequently sold as -waste-paper, hats that have braved many a battle and breeze, boots -without soles, ball dresses, satin slippers (what DO people think -refugees need in the War Zone?), greasy articles of apparel, the mere -handling of which makes our fingers shine, dirty underlinen, single -socks and stockings, married socks that are like the Irishman's -shirt--made of holes, another hundred dozen of petticoats for children -aged three, and once--how we laughed over it!--a red velvet dress that -I swear had been filched from an organ-grinder's monkey, and with it a -pair of-of--well, you know. They were made of blue serge, and when held -out at width stretched all across the Common-room. The biggest Mynheer -that ever smoked a pipe by the Zuyder Zee would have been lost in them, -and as they were neither male nor female, only some sort "of giddy -harumphrodite" could have worn them. - -Sometimes we fell upon stale cough lozenges, on mouldering biscuits, -on dried fruits, on chocolate, on chewing-gum, on moth-eaten bearskin -rugs, or on a brilliant yellow satin coverlet with LOVE in large green -capitals on it. The tale is unending, but it was not all tragic. There -were many days when our hearts sang in gladness, when good, useful, -sensible things emerged from the bales and we fitted our people out in -style. - -But all the rubbish in the world must have been dumped upon France -in the last two years. Never has there been such a sweeping out of -cupboards, such a rummaging of dust-bins. The hobble skirts that -submerged us at one period nearly drove us into an early grave. Picture -us, with a skirt in hand. It is twenty-seven inches round the tail, -perhaps twenty-three round the waist. And Madame, who waits with such -touching confidence in the discrimination of Les Anglaises, tells you -that she is _forte_. As you look at her you believe it. It is half a -day's journey to walk round her. You pace the wide circle thoughtfully, -you make rapid calculations, you give it up. The thing simply cannot -be done. And you send up a wild prayer that before ever there comes -another war French women of the fields will take to artificial means -of restraining their figures. As it is, like Marguerite, many of them -occupy vast continents of space when they take their walks abroad. And -when they stand on the staircase, smiling deprecatingly at you, and you -have nothing that will fit.... - -And when it does fit it is blue, or green, and they have a passion for -black. Something discreet. Something they can go to Mass in. I often -wonder why they worship their God in such dolorous guise. Something, -too, they can mourn in. So many are _en deuil_. Once a woman who came -for clothes demanded black, refusing a good coat because it was blue. -The cousin of her husband had died five months before, and never had -she been able to mourn him. If the English would give her _un peu de -deuil_? She waited weeks. She got it and went forth smiling happily -upon an appreciative world, ready to mourn at last. - -The weather is stifling, the Clothes-room an inferno. The last visitor -for the morning has been sent contentedly away--she may come back -to-morrow, though, and tell us that the dress of Madeleine does not -fit, and may she have one the same as that which Madame Charton got? -Now the dress of Madame Charton's Marie was new and of good serge, -whereas that of Madeleine was slightly worn and of light summer -material. But then Marie had an old petticoat, whereas Madeleine had a -new one. But this concession to equality finds no favour in the eyes -of Madeleine's mother. She has looked upon the serge and lusted after -it. We suggest that a tuck, a little arrangement.... She goes away. And -in the house in rue Paradis there is lamentation, and Marie, I grieve -to say, lifts up her shrill treble and crows. It is one of the minor -tragedies of life. Alas, that there are so many! - -But as Madame the mother of Madeleine departs, we know nothing of the -reckoning that waits us on the morrow. We only know that we promised -to go and see the Basket-makers to-day, that time is flying, and haste -suicidal with the thermometer at steaming-point. - -"Madame, we are going out. We cannot see any one else." - -_Bon._ Madame is a Cerberus. She will write down the names of callers -and so ease our minds while we are away. - -We fling on our hats, we arm ourselves with pencil and notebook, and -wend our way up the Avenue du Château to the rue des Ducs de Bar. It is -well to choose this route sometimes, though it is longer than that of -the rue St. Jean, for it goes past the old gateway and shows you the -view over the rue de Véel. It is wise to look down on the rue de Véel; -it is rather foolhardy to walk in it. For motor-lorries whiz through it -at a murderous speed, garbage makes meteoric flights from windows, the -drainage screams to Heaven, every house is a tenement house, most of -them are foul and vermin-ridden, and all are packed with refugees. - -Well, perhaps not quite all. Even the rue de Véel has its bright -particular spots, one of them being the house, set a little back from -the street, in which Pétain, "On-les-aura Pétain," lived during the -battle of Verdun. The street lies in a deep hollow, with cultivated -hills rising steeply above it. Higher up there are woods on the far -side, while above the sweeping Avenue du Château the houses are piled -one above the other in tumbled, picturesque confusion. - -Once in the rue des Ducs we go straight to No. 49, through a -double-winged door into a courtyard, up a flight of worn steps into a -wee narrow lobby, rather dark and noisome, and then, if any one cries -_Entrez_! in response to our knock, into a great wide room. - -That some one would cry it is certain, for the room is a human hive. -It swarms with people. Short, thickset, sturdy, rather heavily-built -people, whose beauty is not their strong point, but whose honesty is. -And another, for they have many, is their industry; and yet another, -dear to the heart of the Relief worker, is their gratitude for any -little help or sympathy that may be given them. - -And, poor souls, they did need help. Think of it! One room the factory, -dining-room, bedroom, smoking-room, sitting-room of forty people. Some -old, some young. Women, girls and men. - -It appalled you as you went in. On one side, down all its length, and -also along the top palliasses were laid on the floor, so close they -almost touched. Piled neatly on these were scanty rugs or blankets. -No sheets or linen of any kind until our Society provided them. There -was only one bed--a gift from the Society--and in that sat a little -old woman bolt upright. Her skin was the colour of old parchment, it -was seamed and lined and criss-crossed with wrinkles, for she was over -eighty years of age. But her spirit was still young. She could enjoy a -little joke. - -"Yes, I remember the war of Soixante-dix," she said, "but it was not -like this. Ma fois, non! Les Prussiens--oh, they were good to us." Her -eyes twinkled. "They lived in our house. They were like children." - -"Madame, Madame! Confess now that 'vous avez fait la coquette' with -those Prussians." - -Whereupon she cackled a big, "Ho, ho! Écoutez ce qu'elle dit!" and a -shrivelled finger poked me facetiously in the ribs. - -But if the Basket-makers made friends with the Germans in those far-off -days, they hate them now. Hate them with bitter, deadly hatred. "Ah, -les barbares! les sauvages! les rosses!" Madame Walfard would cry, her -face inflamed with anger. Her mother, badly wounded by a shell, had -become paralysed, so there is perhaps some excuse for her venom. - -But for the most part they are too busy to waste time in revilings. The -little old woman is the only idle person in the room. Squatting on low -stools under the windows--there are four or five set in the length of -the wall--the rest work unceasingly, small basins of water, sheaves -of osier, tools, finished baskets, and piles of osier-ends strewn all -about them. Down the middle of the room runs a long table, littered -with mugs, bowls, cooking utensils, odds and ends of every description. -There is only one stove, a small one, utterly inadequate for the size -of the room. On it all their cooking has to be done. I used to wonder -if they ever quarrelled. - -As time went on and I came to know them better, Madame Malhomme -and Madame Jacquemot told me many a tale of their life in -Vaux-les-Palamies, of the opening days of war and of their subsequent -flight from their village. Madame Malhomme, daughter of the little old -lady who had once dared to flirt with a Prussian, lived in the big room -in the rue Des Ducs for nearly a year. Then Madame B. established her -and her family in a little house about half a mile from the town, where -they had nothing to trouble them save the depredations of an occasional -rat, a negligible nuisance compared with the (in more senses than one) -overcrowded condition of No. 49. For that historic mansion had gathered -innumerable inmates to its breast during the long years of emptiness -and decay. And these inmates made the Basket-makers' lives a burden to -them. - -The cold, too, was penetrating, it ate through their scanty clothes, -it bit through flesh to the very bone. The stove was an irony, a tiny -flame in a frozen desert. Every one was perished, Madame Malhomme not -least of all, for, seeing her daughter shivering, she stripped off her -only petticoat and forced her to put it on. - -At night they lay in their clothes under their miserable blankets. -(Bar-le-Duc is not a very large nor a very rich town, and in giving -what it did to such numbers of people it showed itself generous indeed. -In ordinary times its population is not more, and is probably less, -than 17,000, so an influx of 4000 destitute refugees taxed it heavily.) - -The unavoidable publicities of their existence filled the women with -shame and dismay. Sleeping "comme des bêtes sur la paille,"[4] or, more -often still, lying awake staring out into the unfriendly dark, what -dreams, what memories must have been theirs! How often they must have -seen the village, its cosy little homes, each with its garden basking -in the sun, the river flowing by, and the great osier beds that were -the pride of them all. - - [4] Like beasts, on straw. - -They seem to have lived very much to themselves, these sturdy artisans, -rarely leaving their valley, and intermarrying to an unusual extent. -You find the same names cropping up again and again: Jacquemot, Riot, -or Malhomme. Like Quakers, every one seemed to be the cousin of every -one else. And they were well-to-do. It is safe to presume that there -was no poverty in the village. Their baskets were justly famous -throughout France, and the average family wage was about £3 a week. -In addition they had the produce of their garden, the inevitable pig -being fattened for the high destiny of the _soupe au lard_, rabbits and -poultry. If Heaven denied them the gift of physical beauty it had not -been niggardly in other respects. Best of all, it gave them the gift -of labour. In the spring pruning and tending the osier, then cutting -it, and piling it into great stacks which had to be saturated with -water every day during the hot weather, planting and digging in their -gardens, looking after the rabbits and the pig, and in winter plying -their trade. Life moved serenely and contentedly in Vaux-les-Palamies -until the dark angel of destruction passed over it and brushed it with -his wings. - -The Basket-makers don't like the Boche; indeed, they entertain a -reasonable prejudice against him. He foisted himself upon them, making -their lives a burden to them; he was coarse, brutal and overbearing, -he no more considered their feelings than he would those of a rotten -cabbage-stalk thrown out upon the refuse-heap of a German town. He -stayed with them for a week. When he went away he bequeathed them a -prolific legacy. Madame Malhomme will tell you of it if you ask her--at -least she will when she knows you well. She is not proud of it. - -"Ah, qu'ils sont sales, ces Boches," she says with a shudder. She -bought insecticide, she was afraid to look her neighbours in the face. -It did not occur to her at first that her troubles were not personal -and individual. Then one day she screwed up her courage and asked the -question. The answers were all in the affirmative. No one was without. - -So when news came that the Boche was returning, Vaux-les-Palamies -girded up its loins and fled. Shells were falling on the village, so -they dared not spend time in extensive packings; in fact, they made -little if any attempt to pack at all. Madame's sister-in-law was -wounded in the shoulder, and the wound, untended for days, began to -crawl. Her description of it does not remind you of a rose-scented -garden. It was thrust on me as a privilege. So was a view of the -shoulder. The latter was no longer crawling. It was exquisitely white -and clean, but it had a hole in it into which a child might drive its -fist. - -And so after much tribulation they found themselves in Bar-le-Duc, and -theirs was the only instance that came under our notice of a village -emigrating _en masse_, and settling itself tribally into its new -quarters. Even the Mayor came with them, and it was he who eventually -succeeded in getting a supply of osier and putting them into touch with -a market again. But their activities are sadly restricted, and they -make none of their famous baskets _de fantaisie_ now, the osier being -dear and much of it bad, so their profit is very, very small. - -I was in Bar for some months before I met Madame Jacquemot. And then -it was Madame B. who introduced me to her. Her mother, an old lady -of eighty-two, had been in hospital; was now rather better, and back -again with her family in the rue Maréchale. Would the Society give her -sheets? As the dispenser of other people's bounty I graciously opined -that it would, and calling on Madame Jacquemot, told her so. Her mother -was startlingly like the old lady at No. 49, small, thin, wiry, and -bird-like in her movements. She had had shingles, poor soul, and talked -of the _ceinture de feu_ which had scorched her weary little body. -She talked of the Germans too. Ah, then you should have seen her! How -her eyes flashed! She would straighten herself and all her tiny frame -would become infused with a majesty, a dignity that transfigured her. -Once a German soldier demanded something of her, and when she told -him quite truthfully that she had not got it, he doubled his fist and -dealt her a staggering blow on the breast. And she was such a little -scrap of humanity, just an old, old woman with a brave, tender heart -and the cleanest and honestest of souls. She got her sheets and a -good warm shawl--I am afraid we took very special trouble with that -_paquet_, choosing the best of our little gifts for her--and soon -afterwards I went to see her again. As we sat in the dusky room while -Madame Jacquemot told stories, describing the method of cultivating -the osier, showing how the baskets are made, the old lady began to -cough and "hem" and make fluttering movements with her hands. Madame -Jacquemot, thickset and broad-beamed like most of her people--she had -a fleshy nose and blue eyes, I remember, hair turning grey, a pallid, -rather unhealthy complexion and a humorous mouth--got up, and going to -an inner room returned almost immediately with a quaintly-shaped basket -in her hands. The old lady took it from her and held it out to me. - -"It is for you," she said. "And when you go home to England you will -tell people that it was made for you by an old woman of eighty-two, -a refugee, who was ill and in hospital for months. I chose the osier -specially, there is not a bad bit in the basket. And it is long, long -since I have made a basket. I haven't made one since we left home. But -I wanted to make one for you because you have been kind to us." - -I have that basket now; I shall keep it always and think of the feeble -fingers that twined the osier, fingers that were never to twine it -again, for the gallant spirit that fought so gamely was growing more -and more weary. The old bear transplanting badly, they yearn for their -chimney corner and the familiar things that are all their world. The -long exile from her beloved village told upon her heart, joy fell from -her and, saddened and desolate, she slipped quietly away. - -"She just fluttered away like a little bird," her daughter said, and I -was glad to know she had not suffered at the last. - -"Ah, if only I could see the village again," she would often say. "If -only I might be buried there. To die here, among strangers.... Ah, -mademoiselle, do you think the war will soon be over? Si seulement...." -To die and be buried among her own people. To die at home. It was -all she asked for, all she had left to wish for in the world. She -would look at me with imploring, trustful eyes. Les Anglaises, they -must know. Surely I could tell her? And in the autumn one would say, -"It will be over in the spring," and in the winter cry, "Ah yes, in -the summer." But spring came and summer followed, and still the guns -reverberated across the hills, and winter came and the Harvest of Death -was still in the reaping. - -Surely God must have His own Roll of Honour for those who have fallen -in the war, and many a humble name that the world has never heard of -will be written on it in letters of gold. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -IN WHICH WE PLAY TRUANT - - -I - -Without wishing in the least to malign my fellow-men, I am minded to -declare that a vast percentage of them are hypocrites. Not that they -know it or would believe you if you told them so. Your true _poseur_ -imposes acutely on himself, believing implicitly in his own deceptions; -but the discerning mind is ever swift to catch an attitude, and never -more so than when it is struck before the Mirror of Charity. - -Consequently, when people tell me they go to the War Zone in singleness -of purpose, anxious only to succour the stricken, I take leave to be -incredulous. The thing is impossible. Every one who isn't a slug likes -to go to the War Zone, every one who isn't an animated suet-pudding -wants to see a battlefield, or a devastated village, or a trench, or a -dug-out, and we all want _souvenirs de la guerre_, shell cases, bits -of bomb or shrapnel, the head of the Crown Prince on a charger, or the -helmet of a Death's Head Hussar. And do we not all love adventure, -and variety--unless fear has made imbeciles of us, and the chance -of distinguishing ourselves, of winning the Legion of Honour in a -shell-swept village, or the Croix de Guerre under the iron rain of a -Taube? - -I believe we do, though few of us confess it. We prefer to look -superior, to pretend we "care nothing for all that," and so I cry, -"Hypocrites! Search your hearts for your motives and you will find them -as complex as the machinery that keeps you alive." - -Search mine for my motive and you will find it compounded of many -simples, but of their nature and composition it is not for me to speak. -Has it not been written that I am a modest woman? - -And methinks indifferent honest. That is why I am going to tell you -about Villers-aux-Vents. You must not labour under a delusion that life -was all hard work and no play in the War Zone. - -It was no high-souled purpose that led us to Villers. It was just -curiosity, common curiosity. Later on we spent a night (Saturday night, -of course) at Greux, and visited the shrine of Jeanne D'Arc at Domremy, -but that was not out of curiosity. It was hero-worship coupled with a -passion for historical research. - -And we planned to go to Toul and Nancy. Now when people make plans they -should carry them out. The gods rarely send the dish of opportunity -round a second time, and when the _Carnet d'Étranger_ chained us body -and soul to _l'autorité compétente militaire_ there was no second time. -The dish had gone by; it would never come again. - -Wherefore I am wrath with the gods, and still more wrath with myself, -for I have not seen Nancy, and I have not seen Toul, and if the old -_grognard_ had been in good humour I might even have gone to Verdun. -Maddening, isn't it? Especially as then, when our work was only, so to -speak, getting into its stride, we might have virtuously spared the -time. Later on when it increased, and when we bowed to a _Directrice_ -who has found the secret of perpetual motion, we worked Saturday, -Sundays and all sometimes; but in 1915 we were not yet super-normal -men. We could still enjoy a holiday. And so we decided to go to -Villers-aux-Vents. To go before winter had snatched the gold mantle -from the limbs of autumn, to go while yet the sun was high and the long -day stretched before us, languorous, beautiful. - -And the manner of our going was thus, by train to Révigny at 7.20 a.m., -and then on foot over the road. - -Now it is written that if you get into a westward-bound omnibus train -at Bar-le-Duc, in fulness of time you will arrive at Révigny. The -train will be packed with soldiers, so of course you travel first-or -second-class, thereby incurring a small measure of seclusion and a -larger one of boredom. In Class Three it is never dull. You may be -offered cakes or a hunk of bread which has entered into unwilling -alliance with sausage, you may be invited to drink the health of the -Allies in rank red wine, or you may be offered a faithful heart, -lifelong adoration and an income of five sous a day. Or (but for this -you must keep your ears wide open, for the train makes _un bruit -infernale_, and speech is a rapid, vivacious, eager thing in France) -you may hear tales of the war, episodes of the trenches, comments upon -the method of the Boche, things many of them hardly fit for publication -but drawn naked and quivering from the wells of life. - -Unless he has been refreshing a vigorous thirst, the poilu is rarely -unmanageable. He is the cheekiest thing in the universe, he has a -twinkle in his eye that can set a whole street aflame, and he is filled -with an accommodating desire to go with you just as far as you please. -Nevertheless, he can take a hint quicker than any man I know, and his -genius in extricating himself from a difficult situation is that of the -inspired tactician. - -Madame B., pursuing her philanthropic way, came out of a shop one day -to find a spruce poilu comfortably ensconced in her carriage. With arms -folded and legs crossed he surveyed the world with conquering eyes. - -"I am coming for a drive with you," he remarked genially, and his smile -was the smile of a seductive angel, his assurance that of a king. - -"Au contraire," replied Madame B. (the poilu was not for her, as for -us, an undiscovered country bristling with possibilities of adventure), -and his abdication was the most graceful recorded in history. - -Now, I wouldn't advise you to accept every offer of companionship you -get from a poilu, but you may accept some. More than one tedious mile -of road is starred for me with memories of childlike, simple souls, -burning with curiosity about all things English, and above all about -the independent female bipeds who have no apparent fear of man, God -or devil, nor even--_bien entendu_--of that most captivating of all -created things, the blue-coated, trench-helmeted French soldier. - -"You march well, Mademoiselle; you would make a fine soldier." Thus a -voice behind me as I swung homewards down the hill one chilly evening. -A sense of humour disarms me on these occasions. One day, no doubt, it -will lead me into serious trouble. I didn't wither him. One soon learns -when east winds should blow, and when the sun, metaphorically speaking, -may shine. We walked amicably into Bar together, and before we parted -he told me all about the little wife who was waiting for him in Paris, -and the fat baby who was _tout-à fait le portrait de son père_. - -So ponder long and carefully before you choose your carriage, but if -your ponderings are as long as this digression you will never get to -Révigny. Even an omnibus train starts some time, and generally when you -least expect it. - -At Mussey if you crane your head out of the window you may see two -wounded German prisoners, white-faced, mud-caked wretches who provoke -no comment. At Révigny you will see soldiers (if I told you how many -pass through in a day the Censor would order me to be immersed in a vat -of official ink); and you will see ruins. The Town Hall is an eyeless -skeleton leering down the road, the Grande Place--there is no Grande -Place, there is only a scattered confusion of fire-charred stones and -desiccated brick. - -It was rather foggy that Sunday morning and the town looked used up. -Not an attractive place in its palmiest days we decided as we slung our -luncheon bags over our shoulders and set out for Villers. Away to the -left we could see Brabant-le-Roi, and it was there some weeks later -that I assisted at the incineration of a pig. He lay by the roadside -in a frame of blazing straw. Flames lapped his ponderous flanks, and -swept across his broad back, blue smoke curled around him, an odour of -roasting pig hung in the air. A crowd of women and soldiers stood like -devotees about a shrine. The flames leaped, and fell. Then came men -who lifted him up and laid him on a stretcher. In his neck there was -a gaping wound, and out of the fire that refined him he was no longer -an Olympian sacrifice, he was mouldering pig, dead pig, black pig, -nauseating, horrible. I turned to fly, but a voice detained me. - -"Madame Bontemps will be killing to-morrow. If Mademoiselle would like -to see?" - -But "to-morrow" Mademoiselle was happily far on her way to Troyes, -and the swan-song of Madame Bontemps' _gros cochon_ fell on more -appreciative ears. - -However, on that Sunday morning in September there was no pig, and our -"satiable curiosity" led us far from poor battered Brabant. Our road -was to the right and "uphill all the way." The apple trees on the Route -Nationale were crusted with ripe red fruit, but we resisted temptation, -our only loot being a shell-case which we discovered in a field, which -was exceedingly heavy and with which we weighted ourselves for the sake -of an enthusiastic youngster at home. My arm still aches when I think -of that shell-case, for by this time the sun had burst out, it was -torridly hot, the apple trees gave very little shade, and our too, too -solid flesh was busily resolving itself into a dew. - -However, we persevered, the object of our pilgrimage being a square -hole dug in a sunny orchard on the brow of the hill above Villers. -Some rude earthen steps gave access to it, the roof was supported by -two heavy beams, and the floor and sides were lined with carved panels -wrenched from priceless old _armoires_ taken from the village. It is -known as the Crown Prince's Funk Hole, and the story goes that from -its shelter he ordered, and subsequently watched, the destruction -of the village. The dug-out, a makeshift affair, the Crown Prince's -tenancy being of short duration, is well placed. The hill falls away -behind it, running at right angles to the opening there is a thick -hedge, trees shelter it, the line of a rough trench or two, now filled -in, runs protectingly on its flank. The fighting in this region was -open, a war of movement lasting only a few days, so trench lines are -not very plentiful. Just opposite the mouth of the dug-out there is a -fenced-in cross, a red _képi_ hangs on the point, a laurel wreath tied -with tri-coloured ribbon is suspended from the arms. "An unknown French -soldier." Did he fall there in the rush of battle, or did he creep up -hoping to get one clean neat shot at the Prince of Robbers and so put -him out of action for ever? - -As for Villers itself, it was wiped out of existence. One house, and -only one, remains, and even that is battered. One might speculate a -little on the psychology of houses. The pleasant fire-cracker pastilles -that wrought so much havoc elsewhere were impotent here. The Germans -flung in one after another, we were told, using every incendiary device -at their disposal, but that house refused to burn. There it stands -triumphantly in its tattered garden, not far from the church, and when -I saw it an old woman with a reaping-hook in her hand was standing by -the hedge watching me with curious eyes. We had separated, my companion -and I, farther down the long village street, she to meditate among the -ruins, I to mourn over the shattered belfry-tower, the bell hurled to -the ground, the splintered windows, the littered ruined interior. In -the cemetery were many soldiers' graves; on one inscribed, "Two unknown -German officers," some one had scribbled "À bas les Boches," the only -instance that came to my knowledge of the desecration of a German -grave. And even here contrition followed fast upon the heels of anger, -and heavy scrawlings did their best to obliterate the bitter little -phrase. The French--in the Marne at least--have been scrupulous in -their reverence for the German dead, the graves are fenced in just as -French graves are, and the name whenever possible printed on the cross. -I suppose that even the soppiest sentimentalist would not ask that they -should be decorated with flowers? - -As I left the graveyard and looked back at the desolation that once was -Villers, but where even now wooden houses were springing hopefully from -the ground, the old woman with the reaping-hook spoke to me. My dress -betrayed me; she knew without asking that I was British. And, as is the -way with these French peasants, she fell easily and naturally into her -story. I wish I could tell it to you just as she told it to me, but I -know I shall never find her simple dignity of phrase, or her native -instinct for the _mot juste_. However, such as it is you shall have it, -and if it please you not, skip. That refuge is always open to the bored -or tired reader. - - -II - -Old Madame Pierrot was disturbed in spirit. She could see the flames -leaping above burning villages across the plain, the earth shook with -the menace of the guns, the storm was rising, every moment brought the -waves of the encroaching sea nearer to her home. Yet people said that -Villers was safe. The Germans could never get so far as that, they -would be turned back long before they reached the hill. She was alone -in her comfortable two-storied house (the house she had built only a -few years before, and which had a fine yard behind it closed in by -spacious stables, cow-houses and barns), and she was sadly in need of -advice. She had no desire whatever to make the personal acquaintance -of any German invader. Even the honour of receiving the Crown Prince -made no appeal to her soul. She had heard something of his arch little -ways and his tigerish playfulness, and though she could hardly suppose -that he would favour a woman of her dried and lean years with special -attention, she reasonably feared that she might be called on to assist -at one of his festivals. And an Imperial degenerate will do that in -public which decent women are ashamed to talk about, much less to -witness. So Madame was perturbed in soul. The battle raged through the -woods and over the plain, it crept nearer ... nearer.... - -"Madame, Madame, come. Is it that you wish the Germans to get you?" A -wagon was drawn up at the door, in it were friends who lived higher up -the street. "Come with us to Laimont. You will be safer there." - -So they called to her and put an end to her doubt. Snatching up a -basket, she stuffed into it all the money she had in the house, -various family papers and documents, and then, just as she was, in her -felt-soled slippers with her white befrilled cap on her head, in her -cotton dress without even a shawl to cover her, she clambered into the -wagon and set out. Laimont was only a few miles away; indeed, I think -you can see the church spire and the roofs of the houses from the -hill. There the wagon halted. In a few hours the Germans would be gone, -and then one could go peaceably home again. But time winged away, the -battle raged more fiercely than ever, soon perhaps Laimont itself would -be involved and see hand-to-hand fighting in its streets. - -Laimont! Madame was _desolée_. _Où aller?_ Farther south, farther east? -The Germans were everywhere. And _voyager comme ça_ in her old felt -slippers, in her working clothes, without wrap or cloak to cover her? -Impossible. The wagon must wait. There was still time. _Ces salauds_ -would not reach Laimont yet. Why, look! Villers itself was free. There -was no fire, no smoke rising on the hill. Her friends would wait while -she went back _au grand galop_ to put on her boots, and her bonnet and -her Sunday clothes. "Hé, mon Dieu, it is not in the petticoat of the -fields that one runs over France." - -Away she went, her friends promising to wait for her. Laden down by -the shell, we who were lusty and strong found the road from Villers -to Laimont unendingly long, yet no grisly fears gnawed at our -heart-strings, no sobs rose chokingly to be thrust back again ... and -yet again. Nor had we the hill to climb, and no shells were bursting -just ahead. So what can it have been for Madame? But she pressed on; -old, tired and, oh, so dismayed, she panted up the steep hill that -curls into the village, and walked right into the arms of the Crown -Prince's men. In a trice she was a prisoner, one of eighty, some -of whom were soldiers, the rest civilians, who, like herself, had -committed the egregious folly of being born west of the Rhine, and were -now about to suffer for it. - -What particular crime Villers-aux-Vents had committed to merit -destruction I cannot tell. Perhaps it never committed any. The Crown -Prince was not always a minister of Justice promulgating sentence -upon crime. He was more often a Nero loving a good red blaze for its -own sake, or it may be an æsthete of emotion, a super-sensualist of -cruelty, or just a devil hot from the stones of hell. - -Whatever the reason, Villers was doomed. Out came the pastilles and -the petrol-sprayers: the most determined destruction was carried on. -Not only were the houses themselves destroyed but the outhouses, the -stables, solid brick and mortar constructions running back to a depth -of several feet. And I gathered that the usual pillage inaugurated the -reign of fire. - -Of this, however, Madame knew nothing. She and her seventy-nine -companions in misery were marched away to the north, mile after mile to -Stenay, and if you look at the map you will see that the distance is -not small, it was a march of several days. - -Madame, as I have told you, was old, and her slippers had soles of -felt, and so the time came when her feet were torn and bleeding, and -when, famished and exhausted, she could no longer keep step with her -guards. Her pace became slower and slower. Ah, God, what was that? Only -the butt-end of a rifle falling heavily across her back. She nerved -herself for another effort, staggered on to falter once more. Again the -persuasion of the rifle. Again the shrewd, cruel blow, and a bayonet -flashing under her eyes. - -A diet of black bread three times a day does not encourage one to take -violent exercise, but black bread was all that they got, and I think -the rifle-butts worked very hard during that long weary march. - -On arrival they were herded into a church and then into a prison, where -they were brutally treated at first, but subsequently, when French -people were put in charge, found life a little less intolerable. And -later on some residents still living in the town were kind to her, but -during all the months--some eight or nine--that she was imprisoned -there she had no dress but the one, nothing to change into, nothing to -keep out the sharp winter cold. - -Madame Walfard the basket-maker told me some gruesome tales about -Stenay, and what happened there, but this is not a book of atrocities. -Perhaps it ought to be, perhaps every one who is in a position to do -so should cry aloud the story in a clear clarion call to the civilised -world, but--isn't the story known? Can anything I have to say add a -fraction of a grain of weight to the evidence already collected? Is -the world even now so immature in its judgment that it supposes that -the men who sacked Louvain, the men who violated Belgium behaved -like gallant gentlemen in the sunnier land of France? Do we not know -all of us that, added to the deliberate German method, there was the -lasciviousness of drunkenness? That the Germans poured into one of the -richest wine-growing countries in the world during one of the hottest -months of the year, that their thirst at all times is a mighty one, and -when excited by the frenzy of battle it was unassuageable? They drank, -and they drank again. They rioted in cellars containing thousands of -bottles of good wine, and they emerged no longer men but demons, whose -officers laughed to see them come forth, sure now that no lingering -spark of human or divine fire would hold them back from frightfulness. - -Of course we know it was so, and therefore I am not going to dilate -upon horrors. Let the kharma of the Germans be their witness and their -judge. Only this in fairness should be told--that the behaviour of the -men varied greatly in different regiments. "It all depended upon the -Commandant," summed up one narrator, "and the first armies were the -worst." - -"And the Crown Prince's army?" I asked; "what of that?" - -He shrugged. What can be expected from the followers of such a leader? -Their exploits put mediæval mercenaries to shame. - -Stenay must find another historian; but even while I refuse to become -the chronicler of atrocities, every line I write rises up to confute -me. For was not the very invasion of France an "atrocity"? Is the word -so circumscribed in its meaning that it contains only arson, murder -and rape? Does not the refinement of suffering inflicted upon every -refugee, upon every homeless _sinistré_, upon the basket-makers of -Vaux-les-Palamies as upon Madame Lassanne, and poor old creatures -like the Leblans fall within it too, and would not the Germans stand -convicted before the Tribunal of such narratives even if the gross sins -of the uncivilised beast had never been laid at their door? - -Madame Pierrot told me nothing about Stenay--perhaps she saw nothing -but the inside of her prison walls--but she told me a great deal about -the kindness of the Swiss when she crossed the frontier one happy day, -and the joy-bells were ringing in her heart. They gave her food and -drink, they overwhelmed her with sympathy, they offered her clothes. -But Madame said no. She was a _propriétaire_, she had good land in -Villers. - -"Keep the clothes for others, they will need them more than I. In my -house at Villers-aux-Vents there are _armoires_ full of linen and -underclothing, everything that I need. I can wait." - -I often wonder whether realisation came to her at Révigny, or whether, -all ignorant of the tragedy, she walked blithely up the hill, the -joy-bells ringing their Te Deum in her heart, her thoughts flitting -happily from room to room, from _armoire_ to _armoire_, conning over -again the treasures she had been parted from so long. Did she know only -as she turned the last sharp bend in the road and saw the village dead -at her feet? Ah, whether she knew as she trudged over the much-loved -road, or whether knowledge came only with sight, what a home-coming was -that! She found the answer to the eternal question, "What shall we find -when we return?" ... How many equally poignant answers still lie hidden -in the womb of time to be brought forth in anguish when at last the day -of restoration comes? - - -III - -Even the longest story must come to an end some time, and so did Madame -Pierrot's. Conscience, tugging wildly at the strings of memory, spoke -to me of my lost comrade; the instinct of hospitality asserted itself -in Madame's soul. We were strangers, we must see the sights. Would I go -with her to her "house," and to the dug-out of the Crown Prince? Yes? -_Bon. Allons._ And away we trotted to gather up the lost one among -the ruins, to inspect the dug-out, to eat delicious little plums which -Madame gathered for us in the orchard, and finally to be seized by -the pangs of a righteous hunger which simply shrieked for food. Where -should we eat? Madame mourned over her brick and rubble. If we had come -before the war she would have given us a _déjeuner_ fit for a king. -A good soup, an omelette, _des confitures_, a cheese of the country, -coffee, but now? "Regardez, Mademoiselle. Ah que c'est triste. Il n'y -a rien du tout, du tout, du tout." And indeed there was nothing but a -mound of material that might have been mistaken for road rubbish. - -Eventually she found a stone bench in the yard, and there we munched -our sandwiches while she flitted away, to come back presently with -bunches of green grapes, sweet enough but very small. The vine had not -been tended for a year, it was running wild. They were not what _ces -dames_ should be given, but if we would accept them? We would have -taken prussic acid from her just then, I believe, but fortunately it -did not occur to her to offer it. She cut us dahlias from her ragged -garden (once loved and carefully tended), and hearing that one of us -was a connoisseur in shell-cases, bits of old iron and other gruesome -relics, rooted about until she found another shell-case, with which -upon our backs we staggered over to Laimont. - -And now let me hereby solemnly declare that if any one ever dares to -tell me that the French are inhospitable I will smite him with a great -and deadly smiting. I am not trying to suggest that they clasped us in -their arms and showered riches upon us within an hour of our meeting. -They showed a measure of sanity and caution in all their ways. They -waited to see what manner of men we were before they flung wide their -doors, but once the doors were wide the measure of their generosity was -only limited by the extent of our need. - -Was it advice, an introduction to an influential person, a string -pulled here, a barrier broken down there, Madame B. and Madame D. were -always at our service. Gifts of fruit and flowers came constantly -to our door, our _bidons_ were miraculously filled with paraffin -in a famine which we, being foolish virgins, had not foreseen, or, -foreseeing, had not guarded against, and once in the heavy frost, when -wood was unobtainable in the town and the supply ordered from Sermaize -was over-long in coming, our lives were saved by a bag of oak blocks -which scented the house, and _boulets_ that made the stove glow with -magnificent ardour. In every difficulty we turned to Madame B. She -helped us out of many an _impasse_, and whether we asked her to buy -dolls in Paris or, by persuading a General and his Staff that without -our timely aid France could never win the war, to reconcile an Army -Corps to our erratic activities in its midst, she never failed us. When -two of our party planned a week-end shopping expedition to Nancy, it -was Madame B. who discovered that the inhabitants of that much-harassed -town were leading frozen lives in their cellars, and if she was -sometimes electrifyingly candid in her criticism, she was equally -unstinted in her praise. Madame D., with her old-world courtesy, was no -less hospitable, and many a frantic S.O.S. brought her at top speed to -our door. - -From Monsieur C., who used to assure us that we dispensed our gifts -with a _délicatesse_ that was _parfait_, and Madame K. showering -baskets of luscious raspberries, to the poorest refugee who begged -us to drink a glass of wine with her, or who deeply regretted her -inability to make some little return for the help we had given her, -they outvied one another in refuting the age-old libel on the character -of the French. - -"But," cries some acidulated critic, "you would have us believe that -the poilu is a blue-winged angel, and the civilian too perfect to -live." Far from it. The poilu is only a man, the civilian only human, -and I have yet to learn that either--be he man or human--is perfect any -more than he, or his equivalent is perfect even in this perfect English -island in the sea. There are soldiers who.... There are civilians -who.... - -I guess the devil doesn't inject original sin into them with a -two-pronged hypodermic syringe any more than he injects it into us. The -good and the evil sprout up together, or are they the spiritual Siamese -twin that is born of every one of us to be a perpetual confusion to our -minds, a bewilderment to our bodies and a most difficult progeny to -rear at the best of times? For as surely as you encourage one of the -twins the other sets up a roar, sometimes they howl together, sometimes -one stuffs his fist down the other's throat. And the bad one is hard -to kill, and the good one has a tendency to rickets. No wonder it is a -funny muddle of a world. - -And the French have their twin too, only theirs say _la-la_ and ours -say damn, and if they keep an over-sharp eye on the sous, do we turn -our noses up at excess profits? - -Of course some of them are greedy, perhaps greedier on the whole -than we are. Would any English village lock its wells when thirsty -children wailed at its door? I know an Irish one would not. But the -French are thrifty, and the majority of them would live comfortably on -what a British family wastes. They work hard too. They are incredibly -industrious, perhaps because they have to be. - -France has not yet been inoculated with the virus of philanthropy, -an escape on which she may possibly be congratulated. The country -is not covered with a network of charitable societies overlapping -and criss-crossing like railway lines at a junction, nor have French -women of birth, independent means and superfluous energy our genius -for managing other people's affairs so well there is no time to look -after our own. The deserving poor run no risk of being pauperised, -the undeserving don't keep secretaries, committees and tribes of -enthusiastic females labouring heavily at their heels. The French -family in difficulties has to depend on its own resources, its own -wit, its own initiative and energy, and when I think of the way our -refugees dug themselves in in Bar-le-Duc, and scratched and scraped, -and hammered and battered at that inhospitable soil till they forced a -living from its breast, my faith in philanthropy and the helping hand -begins to wane. - -Of course there are hard cases, where a little intelligent human -sympathy would transform suffering and sorrow into contentment and joy, -cases that send me flying remorsefully back to the altar of organised -charity with an offering in outstretched hand, but above all these, -over all the agony of war the stern independence of French character -has ridden supreme. - -So let their faults speak for themselves. Who am I that I should -expose them to a pitiless world? Have I not faults of my own? See how -I have kept poor Madame Pierrot gathering dahlias in her garden, and -my comrade in adventure eating grapes upon a very stony seat. So long -that now there is no time to tell you how we walked to Laimont and -investigated more ruins there, and then how we walked to Mussey where -we comfortably missed our train, and how a Good Samaritan directed -us to a house, and how in the house we found a little old lady whose -son had been missing since August 1914, and who pathetically wondered -whether we could get news of him, and how a _sauf-conduit_ had to be -coaxed from the Mayor, and the little old lady's horse harnessed to a -car, and how two chairs were planted in the car and we superficially -planted on the chairs, and how the old lady and a brigand clambered -on to the board in front, and how we drove down to Bar as the sun was -setting. Nor can I tell you how nearly we were run into by a motor-car, -nor how the old lady explained that the brigand was _malheureusement_ -nearly blind, and that she, still more _malheureusement_, was rather -deaf, nor how we prayed as we clung desperately to the chairs which -slid and wobbled and rocked and oscillated, and rattled our bones while -all the military motor-cars in France sought our extermination. - -Nor can I tell you how at a dangerous crossing the brigand drew up -his steed, and set up a wail because he had forgotten his cigarettes, -nor how one escapading female produced State Express which made him -splutter and cough, and nearly wreck us in the ditch (though English -tobacco is not nearly so strong as French), nor how we came at last -to Bar-le-Duc, nor how the old lady demanded a ridiculously small fee -for the journey, nor how I lost a glove, and the sentries eyed us with -suspicion, and the brigand who was blind and _la patronne_ who was deaf -drove away in the fading light to Mussey, the aroma of State Express -trailing out behind them, and the old horse plodding wearily in the -dust. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -THE MODERN CALVARY - - -I - -One day, not long after our visit to the battlefield, our composure was -riven to its very foundations by an invitation to play croquet in the -garden of Madame G. Could we spare an hour from our so arduous toil? -For her it would be a pleasure so great, the English they love "le -sport," they play all the games, we would show her the English way. -Monsieur her husband he adored croquet, but never, never could he find -any one to play with him. Madame, a little swarthy woman who always -dressed in rusty black, clasped her shiny kid gloves together and gazed -at us beseechingly. The Arbiter of our destinies decided that we must -go. There is always _l'Entente_, you know, it should be encouraged at -all hazards, a sentiment which meets with my fullest approval when the -hazard does not happen to be mine. - -Madame yearned that we should throw ourselves into "le sport" at four, -but the devil of malice, who sits so persistently on my shoulder, -arranged that I should be the only one free at that hour. The others -promised to come at half-past four. - -"But, my dear women," I cried, "I haven't played croquet for ages." - -"Never mind. Hit something, do anything. But go." - -I went. I was ushered into a tiny and stuffy parlour, and there for -twenty interminable, brain-racking minutes I confronted Madame G. Then -an old lady in a bath-robe sidled into the room, and we all confronted -one another for ten minutes more. Madame G. may be a devil of a fellow -with a croquet-mallet in her hand, but small talk is not her strong -point. Neither is it mine, for the matter of that, when I am slowly -suffocating in a foreign land. However, we finally adjourned to the -garden. Where, oh where was the croquet ground? Where, oh where were my -faithless companions? Where, oh where was tea? A quarter to five rang -out from the tower of Nôtre Dame, and here was I marooned on a French -grass plot adorned with trees, real trees, apple trees, plum trees, an -enterprising pergola, several flower-beds and, Heaven help me! croquet -hoops--hoops that had just happened, all anyhow, no two looking in the -same direction. In direct line of fire rose a tall birch tree. I gazed -at it in despair. A niblick, or a lofter, or a crane might get a ball -over it, but a croquet mallet?... Circumvention was impossible. There -were three bunkers. - -"It is like your English croquet grounds?" Madame asked. "We play all -the Sundays----" - -"Ah, yes, through the Looking-glass," I murmured, and she responded-- - -"Plaît-il?" - -I hastily congratulated her on the condition of her fruit trees. - -Five o'clock. What I thought of the faithless was by now so sulphuric, -blue flames must have been leaping out of me. Five-fifteen. A Sail! -The Arbiter, full of apologies, which did nothing to soften the steely -reproval in my eye. Then Madame disappeared. At five-thirty she came -back again accompanied by delinquent number two. She held a hurried -consultation with the bath-robe, then melted again into the void. - -"Can I go?" I signalled to the Arbiter. She shook a vigorous head. The -rattle of tea-cups was coming from afar. At a quarter to six Madame -announced tea. It was served in the dining-room. We all sat round a -square table very solemnly--it was evidently the moment of Madame's -life; there was no milk, we were expected to use rum--or was it -gin?--instead. Anyway I know it was white, and one of us tried it, and -I know ... well, politeness conquered, but she has been a confirmed -teetotaller ever since. - -At six-five Madame was weeping as she recounted a tale she had read in -the paper a day or so before, and six-twenty-five we came away. - -"And we never played croquet after all. But you will come again when -Monsieur mon mari is here, for Les Anglaises they love 'le sport.'" - -But we never went back. Perhaps the tree-tops frightened us, or perhaps -we were becoming too much engrossed in sport of another kind. You see, -M. le Curé of N. came to visit us the next day, and soon after that -Madame Lassanne inscribed her name on our books. Which shall I tell -you about first? Madame Lassanne, who was a friend of Madame Drouet, -and actually succeeded in making her talk for quite a long time on the -stairs one day? I think so. - -Perhaps to-morrow I shall tell you of M. Le Curé. - -You see, it was really Madame Lassanne who first brought home to me -what war means to the civil population in an invaded district. One -guessed it all in a dim way before, of course, every imaginative person -does, but not in the way in which pain, desolation of spirit, agony of -soul, poignant anxiety drive their roots deep down into Life; nor does -one realise how small a thing is human life, how negligible man when -compared with the great god of War. - -A French medical officer once said to me, "Mademoiselle, in war les -civiles n'ont pas le droit d'être malade," and I dared to reply, -"Monsieur, ils n'ont guère le droit de vivre." And he assented, for he -knew, knew that to a great extent it was true, only too pitiably true. -For the great military machine which exists in order that an unshakable -bulwark may be set up between the invader and the civilians whom he -would crush is, in its turn, and in order to keep that bulwark firm, -obliged to crush them himself. In the War Zone (it is not too much to -say it) the civilian is an incubus, an impediment, a most infernal -nuisance. He gets so confoundedly in the way. And he is swept out of -it as ruthlessly as a hospital matron sweeps dust out of her wards. -That he is confused and bewildered, thoroughly _désorienté_, that he -may be sick or feeble, that his wife may be about to give birth to a -child, that his house is in ashes and that he, once prosperous, is now -a destitute pauper, that his children trail pitifully in the dust, -footsore, frightened, terror-haunted to the very verge of insanity, -all these things from the military point of view matter nothing. And -it must be so. They dare not matter. If they did, energies devoted to -keeping that human bulwark in the trenches fit and sound might be -diverted into other channels, and the effort to ameliorate and save -become the hand of destruction, ruining all in order to save a little. - -Think of one village. There are thousands, and any one will do. Anxiety -and apprehension have lain over it for days, but the inhabitants go -about their work, eat, sleep, "carry on" much as usual. Night comes. It -is pitch dark. The world is swathed in a murky shroud. At two o'clock -loud hammering is heard, the gendarmes are going from house to house -beating upon the doors. "Get up, get up; in half an hour you must be -gone." Dazed with sleep, riven with fear, grief slowly closing her icy -fingers upon their hearts, they stumble from their beds and throw on a -few clothes. They look round the rooms filled with things nearly every -one of which has a history, things of no intrinsic value, but endeared -to them by long association, and it may be by memory of days when Love -and Youth went hand in hand to the Gates of Romance and they opened -wide at their touch. Things, too, that no money can buy: old _armoires_ -wonderfully carved, old china, old pottery, handed down from father to -son, from mother to child for generations. - -What would one choose in such a moment as that? - -"You can take nothing but what you can carry." Nothing. The children -clutch at hand and skirt. How can Marie and Germaine and Jean and -Robert walk fifteen or twenty kilomètres to safety? - -The prudent snatch at their family papers, thrust a little food into a -bag and go out into the night. Others gather up useless rubbish because -it lies under their hand. The gendarmes are growing impatient. They -round up their human flock as a dog rounds up his sheep. Shells are -beginning to fall here and there. Some one has been killed--a child. -Then a woman. There are cries, a long moan of pain. But the refugees -must hurry on. - -"Vîte, vîte, depêchez-vous." They stumble down the roads, going they -know not whither, following the lanes, the woods, even the fields, for -the main road must be kept clear for the army. Hunger, thirst, the -torment of an August day must be endured, exhaustion must be combated. -Death hovers over them. He stoops and touches now one, now another -with his wings, and quietly they slip down upon the parched and baking -earth, for they are old and weary, and rest is sweet after the long -burden of the day. - -But even this is not all. One may believe that at first, engulfed by -the instinct of self-preservation, tossed by the whirlwind from one -emotion to another and into the lowest pit of physical pain, the mind -is too confused, too stunned to realise the full significance of all -that is happening. - -But once in their new quarters, with the long days stretching out ahead -and the dark night behind, in wretchedness, in bitter poverty, ah! then -Thoughts, Memories, Regrets and Infinite Lonelinesses throng upon them, -and little by little realisation comes and at last they KNOW. - -Know that the broken threads of life can never be taken up again in the -old good way. "On était si heureux là-bas."[5] How often I have heard -that said! "On vivait tout doucement. On n'était pas riche, ma fois, -but _we had enough_!" Poignant words those, in Refugee-land. - - [5] We were so happy! - -Added to the haunting dread of the future there is always the -ghost-filled dream of the past. Women who have spoken with steady -composure of the loss of thousands of francs, of the ruin of -businesses built up through years of patient industry and hard work, -of farms--rich, productive, well-stocked--- laid waste and bare, -have broken down and sobbed pitifully when speaking of some trivial -intrinsically-valueless possession. How our hearts twine themselves -round these ridiculous little things, what colour, what meaning they -lend to life! - -To lose them, ah, yes! that is bad enough; but to know that hands -stained with blood will snatch at them and turn them over, and that -eyes still bestial with lust will appraise their value.... That is -where the sharpest sting lies. The man or woman whose house is effaced -by a shell is happy indeed compared with those who have seen the -Germans come, who have watched the pillage and the looting and the -sacrilege of all they hold most dear. - -But the _émigré's_ cup must hold even greater sorrows and anxieties -than these. "C'est un vrai Calvaire que nous souffrons, Mademoiselle." -So they will tell you, and it is heartbreakingly true. Crucified upon -the iron cross of German ambition, they pray daily that the cup may be -taken from them, but the mocking god of War still holds it to their -lips. They must drink it even to the very dregs. - -For not always could all the members of a family get away together. -It has been the fate of many to remain behind, to become prisoners in -the shadowed land behind the trenches, at the mercy of a merciless -foe. Between them and their relatives in uninvaded France no direct -communication can be established. An impenetrable shutter is drawn -down between. Only at rare intervals news can come, and that is when -a soldier son or father or other near relative becomes a prisoner of -war in Germany. A French woman in the _pays envahi_ may write to a -prisoner in Germany, and he to her. He may also write to his friends in -the free world beyond. And so it sometimes happens that news trickles -through, but very rarely. The risk is tremendous, detection heavily -punished. Only oblique reference can be indulged in, and when one has -heard nothing for months, perhaps years, how meagre and unsatisfying -that must be. Do we in England realise what it means? I know I did not -before I met Madame Lassanne, and only very inadequately as I sat in -the kitchen of the Ferme du Popey and listened to her story. - - -II - -She was the daughter of one farmer, the wife of another and successful -one, the richest in their district, so people said. When the war broke -out her husband was mobilised, she with her three children, a girl of -four, a boy of two and a month-old baby, remaining at the farm with -her father and mother. A few days, perhaps a week or two passed, then -danger threatened. Harnessing their horses to the big farm wagons, she -and the old man packed them with _literie_, _duvets_, furniture, food, -clothes, everything they could find room for, and prepared to leave the -village. But the gendarmes forbade it. I suppose the road was needed -for military purposes: heavy farm wagons might delay the passage of the -troops. Throughout the whole of one day they waited. Still the barrier -was not withdrawn. Shells began to rain on the village; first one -house, then another caught fire. - -"You may go." The order came at last. The children, with their -grandmother and an aunt of the Lassannes, were placed in the wagons and -the little procession set out; but they were not destined to go far -that day. At the next village the barrier fell again. Believing that -the Germans were following close behind, they held hasty consultation, -as the result of which the old women decided to walk on with the -children, leaving M. Breda and Madame to follow as soon as the way was -clear. - -So the horses and wagons were put into a stable, and Madame and her -father sat down to wait. The slow hours ticked away, a shell screamed -overhead, another, then another. Soon they were falling in torrents -on the little street. Houses began to crash down, the stable caught -fire, the four horses and the wagons were burned to a cinder. Then the -house in which the refugees had sheltered was struck. They escaped by a -miracle, crawling on hands and knees. So terrific was the bombardment -they dared not go down the road. A barrage of shell-fire played over -it. With some dozens of others as miserable as themselves they lay all -night in a furrow in a beet-field, Madame trembling in her father's -arms, for shells were falling incessantly on the field and all around -them. At dawn the hurricane ceased, and they crept away. The road was -open now, they were on foot. They walked fast, then faster, hoping -every minute to overtake the children. The old women surely could not -have gone very far. But mile after mile was conquered and no news -of them could be found. No sentries had seen them, no gendarme had -watched them go by. They asked every one they met on the road, at first -hopefully, then, as fear grew, with clutching hands and fevered eyes. -But the answer was always the same. They had not passed that way. -Chance, Fate, call it what you will, brought Madame and the old man -to Bar-le-Duc, and there, soon after her arrival, she heard that her -husband had been wounded in the earliest of the fighting and was now -a prisoner in Germany. A prisoner and ill. Day after day dragged by. -She found employment on the farm near the town, she made inquiries, -exhausted every channel of information, but no trace of the children -could be found. - -And her husband, writing from Germany, demanded news of them! He did -not know that the farm was demolished, and that she was beggared. He -asked for parcels, for comforts. She sent them to him, by what supreme -effort of self-denial only she and the God she prayed to know. And she -wrote him little notes, gay, brave little notes. She told him all about -the children--how fat and how strong they were.... And Marie--ah, Marie -was growing tall--so tall.... And Roger was able to talk now.... - -God only knows what it cost her to write those letters; God only knows -with what agony she forced her tears back to their source lest one, -falling on the paper, betray her. She went about her work white-faced -and worn, hungering for the news that never came, and autumn faded -into winter and spring was born and blossomed into summer, and then, -and then only, did the shutter lift and a tiny ray of light come -through. - -Confused and frightened, the old women, burdened with the children, had -lost their way in the darkness and wandered back into the German lines. -They were now prisoners in Carignan (near the frontier); they managed -to smuggle a letter through. The baby was dead. There was no milk to be -had, so it died of starvation. Madame Breda had been offered freedom. -If she wished she would be sent back into France through Switzerland. -But the children's names were not on the list of those selected for -repatriation. - -"Could they go with her?" - -"No." - -"Eh bien, j'y reste." - -The shutter snapped down again, the veil enclosed them, and Madame -resigned herself to the long, weary waiting. - -Was it any wonder that such stories as this--and there were all too -many of them--filled us with hatred of everything German? In those -first months of personal contact with war we were always at white heat, -consumed with rage and indignation, and for my own part, at least, -desirous of nothing less than the extermination of kultur and every -exponent of it. As I walked home through the quiet afternoon, dark -thoughts filled my mind. What a monster one can be! What longing for -vengeance even the mildest of us can cherish! I thought of another -village not far from that of Madame Lassanne's home, from which three -hundred people had been driven into virtual slavery. Nearly all were -old--over sixty, some few were boys and girls of fourteen, sixteen, -eighteen, and of the old, eighty died in the first six months. - -It was a long time now since any news had come through, and those who -waited had almost given up hope of seeing their loved ones again. - -And we were impotent. With an effort I shook off despondency. I would -go and see Madame Leblan and rest a while in her garden. She was lonely -and loved a little visit. It would amuse her to hear about the Curé and -our visit to N.; any gossip would serve to drive away her memories. "Ça -change les idées," she would say. "It is not well to sit and brood." - -Neither is it well to walk and brood; yet here was I, foolish virgin -that I was, brooding like a moulting hen. Taking myself firmly in hand, -I turned down the rue de L'Étoile and opened the garden gate. - - -III - -Madame was only a poor peasant woman, but she had once been very -beautiful, and the old face was handsome still. The aquiline features -are well-modelled, the large blue eyes clear and steady, flashing now -with a fine pride, now with delicious humour; the head is well poised, -she is essentially dignified; there are times when she has the air of a -queen. - -Her husband is tall and thin, with a drooping moustache, and in -accordance with prevailing custom he keeps his hat on in the house, and -he is seventy-two and she is seventy, and when I saw her first she was -in her quaint little garden sitting under the shade of a mirabelle tree -with an ancient dame to whom only Rembrandt could have done justice. -Like Madame, she was short and broad, and without being handsome, she -was just bonny. She had jolly little eyes and a chubby, dimpled face, -and wore a spotlessly white and befrilled cap with strings that tied -under her chin and made you rather want to kiss her. She was just a -little _coquette_ in her appearance, and she must have been born in -prehistoric times, for she was "la tante de Madame Leblan." She didn't -live in the little cottage, she had a room just across the way, and -there I would see her sitting in the sun on a fine day as I turned in -at the garden gate. - -Of course we went down before her, and gave her of our best, for -she was an irresistible old thing, who could coax you into cyclonic -generosity. She would come trotting over to see us with a small basket -on her arm, and having waited till the crowd that besieged our morning -hours had melted away, would come upstairs looking so innocent and -so picturesque our hearts were as water before her. And then out of -the basket would come apples, or pears, or walnuts, with a honeyed -phrase, the little vivid eyes searching our own. Refusal was out of the -question, we were in the toils, knowing that for Madame we were the sun -in the heavens, the down on the wings of the Angel of Life; knowing, -too, that surely as she turned away would come the tactful hint, the -murmured need. And though periodically we swore that she should have no -more, she rarely went empty away. - -At last, because of the equality of things, we hardened our hearts. -She returned with walnuts. Our thanks being meticulously verbal, she -retreated thoughtfully, to reappear a few days later with three pears -and a remote _malaise_ that successfully defied diagnosis. We knew she -had her eyes on medical comforts, eggs, _bons_ for meat, etc., so the -_malaise_ deceived no one, while a cold gift of aspirin tabloids nearly -destroyed her faith in humanity. - -And all the time she was "rich"! No wonder she was _coquette_, she -could afford to be, for she had small _rentes_, and money laid by, and -had saved all her papers and her bank-book. So Madame Leblan, who had -left home with exactly twenty-seven francs in her pocket, told me, but -not, loyally enough, until she was sure that our gifts to La Tante had -ceased. - -She herself never asked for anything, save once, and that was for a -_paletot_ for Monsieur. In spite of his three-score-years-and-twelve, -in spite of the severe attack of internal hæmorrhage from which he was -recovering, he went to work every morning at six, returning at six -at night. Hard manual toil it was, too, much too hard for a man of -his years. How Madame fretted over him! How she scraped and saved to -buy him little comforts. And he did need that coat badly. I think I -shall never forget her face when she saw the warm Cardigan jacket the -Society provided for him. Her eyes filled with tears, she flushed like -a girl, she looked radiantly beautiful and then, with the most gracious -diffidence in the world, "You will permit me?" she said, and drew my -face down to hers. - -There was something about that old creature that made me feel ashamed. -What one did was so pitifully little, but she made it seem like a gift -of star-flowers bathed in the dews of heaven. It was her unconquerable -sense of humour that attracted me to her, I suppose. French wit playing -over the fields of life with an indomitable spirit that would not be -broken. - -When she was a girl her father used to say to her, "You sing too much, -some day you will cry," but though the tears did come she never lost -her gaiety of heart. When she married she was very poor; Monsieur's -father had been foolish, loving wine, and they had to make their own -way in the world, but she held her head high and did her best for her -boys. It should never be said of them that they were educated at the -cow's tail (à la queue des bêtes). Her pride came to her aid, and -perhaps much of her instinctive good breeding too. _Le fils_ in the -Garde Republicaine in Paris has much of his mother's manner. - -Leaving the cottage was a terrible wrench. They packed a few -odds-and-ends into a bundle, and she tidied everything, saying farewell -to the little treasures they had collected in forty-odd years. Silently -they locked the doors behind them, her eyes dry, the catastrophe too -big for tears. But in the garden Monsieur paused. "Les bêtes," he said; -"we mustn't leave them to starve. Open the cow-house door and let them -go free." As she turned to obey him her feet faltered, the world swam -in a mist of tears. She thrust the key blindly into his hands and -stumbled like a drunken woman down the road. - -Then for six weeks they trudged together. They slept in fields, in the -woods, under carts, in barns, they were drenched with rain and with -dew, they were often hungry and thirsty and cold. But they struggled -on until they came to Vavincourt, and there the owner of the little -house in Bar met them, and seeing what manner of people they were, lent -it to them rent free on condition that they looked after the garden. -How grateful Madame was, but how intensely she longed for home! How -wistfully she turned her eyes northward across the hills! How often the -question, When? trembled half spoken on her lips! What mattered it that -home was a ruin and she penniless? Just to be in the valley again, to -see the sun gleaming on the river. - -To help the time to pass less sluggishly by we had invented a little -tale, a tale of which I was the unworthy heroine, and the hero an -unknown millionaire. The millionaire with gold _jusqu'au plafond_, who -was obligingly waiting for me beyond the sea, and who would come some -day and lay his heart, his hand, and his gold-mine at my feet. And -then a _petit palais_ would spring miraculously from that much-loved -rubbish-heap at Véry, and one day as Madame and _le patron_ stood by -the door, they would see a great aeroplane skimming through the sky, it -would swoop and settle, and from it would leap the millionaire and his -blushing bride. And Madame would lead them in and give them wine and -coffee and a salad and _saucissons de Lorraine_, which are better and -more delicious than any other _saucissons_ in all the wide world. - -Only a foolish little story, but when one is old and one's heart is -weary it is good to be foolish at times, good to spin the sun-kissed -webs, good to leave the dark chamber of despair and stray with timid -feet over the gleaming meadows of hope. - -Her greeting rarely varied. "Je vous croyais morte," a reproach for the -supposed infrequency of my visits. She cried it now, though scarcely a -week had sped since I saw her last, and then with mysterious winks and -nods she hobbled into the house, to return a few minutes later with two -or three bunches of grapes and some fine pears. "Pendant la guerre -tous les scellés sont levés,"[6] she laughed, but I knew she had not -robbed her benefactor. The fruit she kept _en cachette_ for us, she and -M. Leblan deprived themselves of, nor could any remonstrance on our -part stay her. - - [6] During the war all seals are broken. - -"Where is your basket?" She had ordered me to bring one on my next -visit, yet here was I, most perplexingly without. But the fruit must be -carried home. She had no basket, no paper. _Méchante_ that I was, to -come without that basket. Had not she, Madame, commanded it? In vain I -refused the gift. She was inexorable. - -"Ah, I have it." She seized me with delighted hands, and it was then -that the uniform earned my bitterest reproach, for into its pockets, -whose size suggested that they were originally intended to hold the -guano and rabbits of agricultural relief, went the pears. One might as -well argue with a megatherium as with Madame when her mind was made -up. So I had to stand in the kitchen growing bulkier and bulkier, with -knobs and hillocks and boulders and tussocks sprouting all over me, -feeling like a fatted calf, and longing for kindly darkness to swallow -me up. Subsequently I slunk home by unfrequented ways, every yard of -which seemed to be adorned with a gendarme taking notes. I am convinced -that I escaped arrest and decapitation only by a miracle, and that -every dog in the town bayed at my heels. - -My agonies, needless to say, met with scant sympathy from my -companions. They accused me of flirting with M. Leblan, even while they -dug greedy teeth into the pears, an accusation it was difficult to -refute when he called at the house one evening and, hearing that I was -out, refused to leave a message, but turned up later and demanded an -interview with such an air of mystery Madame came to call me fluttering -so we thought the President of the Republic must be at the door. - -Still more difficult was it to refute when Monsieur had gone away, -leaving me transfixed on the stairs with two huge bottles of mirabelle -plums in my hands. I never dared to tell the three villains who made -life such a happy thing on the Boulevard de la Rochelle that Monsieur -was wont to say that if only he were twenty years younger he ... he.... -Can you guess what he?... - -Madame did. She knew, and used to tease me about it. She is one of the -few people in the world who know that I still can blush! Do you? No? -Ah, but then you have never seen Monsieur! You have never heard him say -what he ... what he ... well, you know what he.... - -There were no dark thoughts in my mind as I sped circuitously -homewards, skimming down a by-street every time a gendarme loomed in -view; I was thinking of Madame and of the twinkle in her eyes when she -talked of _le patron_, and of the long day spent at N., the story of -which had helped to drive away for the moment the most persistent of -her _idées noires_. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -IN WHICH WE BECOME EMISSARIES OF LE BON DIEU - - -Now the coming of M. le Curé was in this wise. - -We were making up _paquets_ in the Clothes-room, we were grimy, -dishevelled and hot, we were in no mood for visitors, we were pining -for tea, and yet Madame insinuated her head round the door and -announced, "M. le Curé de N." She would have announced the Czar of -Russia, or President Wilson, or General Joffre, or the dustman in -exactly the same emotionless tones, and with as little consideration -for our feelings. - -"You go." - -"No. You." - -The tug of war ended, as such tugs generally do, in our going together, -smoothing hair that flew on end, flinging overalls into a corner -and praying hastily that the Curé might be an unobservant man. He -was. There was only one vision in the world for him; the air, the -atmosphere, life itself were but mirrors reflecting it; but conceding -that it was a large one, we found some excuse for his egoism. Large? -Massive. He was some inches over six feet in height and his soutane -described a wide arc in advance. His hands were thick and cushiony, you -felt yours sink into their pneumatic fastnesses as you greeted him; he -had a huge head, very little hair, a long heavy jowl, small eyes, and -he breathed fatly, thickly. His voice was slightly smothered. Many -years ago he had retired from his ministry, living at N. because he -owned property there, but the war, which called all priests of military -age and fitness to the colours, drew him from his life of ease and put -the two villages, N. and R., under his spiritual charge. His gestures -were large and commanding, he exuded benevolence--the benevolence of a -despot. There would be no divided authority in the Curé's kingdom. It -was not a matter for surprise to hear that he was not on speaking terms -with his mayor, it would have been a matter for surprise if, had he -been Pope, he had ever relinquished his temporal power. - -He wasted little time on the usual preliminaries, plunging directly -into his subject. At N. and R. there were refugees, _pauvres victimes -de la guerre dans la grande misère_, sleeping on straw _comme des -bêtes_, cold, half-clothed, in need of every necessary. He had heard -of us, of our generosity (he called us "mes bonnes dames," with just a -hint of condescension in his manner), he wished us to visit his people. -Wished? He commanded. He implied, by an art I had not thought him -capable of, that we were yearning to visit them, that our days would be -storm-tossed, our nights sleepless unless we brought them relief. From -mendicant, he transformed himself into benefactor, bestowing on us an -opportunity which--it is due to our reputation to suggest--we craved. - -It was well that our inclination jumped with his desire, for he was -quite capable of picking us up, one under each arm, and marching off -with us to N., had we refused. But how refuse in face of such splendid -faith in our goodwill, and under a shower of compliments that set us -blushing to the tips of our toes? We punctuated the flood or shower -with murmurs of, "C'est un plaisir," or, "On ne demande pas mieux." We -felt like lumbering elephants as we tried to turn aside his flattery, -but he merely waved a benediction and swept on. We would go to N. next -Wednesday; he, Monsieur, would meet us, and conduct us personally over -the village. He would tell us who were the good Catholics--not that he -wished to deprive the careless or sinful of our help; still, it would -be as well for us to know. We read "preferential treatment" on this -sign-post, and carefully reserved our opinion. When the visits were -over, we would go to his house and eat an _œuf à la coque_ with him, -and some _confitures_. His modest establishment ... a gesture indicated -an ascetic régime, the bare necessities of life, but if we would -accept?... - -"With pleasure, if Monsieur was sure it would not inconvenience him." - -"Mes bonnes dames," he replied grandly, "rien ne me dérange dans le -service du bon Dieu."[7] - - [7] Nothing inconveniences me when it is in the service of God. - -Of course it rained on Wednesday--rained quietly, hopelessly, -despairingly, but persistently. Nevertheless we set out, chiefly--so -great was Monsieur's faith in us--because it did not seem possible -to remain at home. We put on the oilskins which, with the uniform, -we had been led to understand would save our lives in France, but -the sou'westers we did not wear. There are limits. And when later -on we saw a worker clad in both, we did not know which to admire -most, the courage which enabled her to wear them, or the utter lack -of imagination which prevented her from realising their devastating -effect. - -So we left the sou'westers on the pegs from which they were never -taken, and arrived at N. in black shiny oilskins that stood out stiffly -like boards from our figures, and were almost as comfortable to wear. -We were splashed with mud, and we dripped audibly on the Curé's -beautiful parquet floor. - -We wished to begin at once? _Bon. Allons._ He, the Curé, had prepared -a list, the name of every refugee was inscribed on it. Oh, yes, he -understood _parfaitement_, that to make _paquets_ we must know the age -and sex of every individual. All was prepared. We would see how perfect -the arrangements were. - -No doubt from his point of view they were perfect, but from ours -chaotic. We climbed the village street, he like a frigate in full sail, -his wide cloak gathered about him, leading the way, we like two rather -disreputable punts towing along behind. You know what happened at the -first house--that illuminating episode of the _seau hygiénique_? Worse, -oh, much worse was to befall us later! He discussed the possibilities -of family crockery with a bluntness that was conducive to apoplexy, he -left nothing to the imagination; perhaps he thought the Britishers had -no imagination. - -In fact, his methods were sheerly cyclonic. Never had we visited in -such a whirl. Carried along in his wake, we were tossed like small -boats upon a wind-tormented sea; we had no time to make notes, we had -no time to ask questions, and when we had finished we had scarcely one -clear idea in our minds as to the state, social position, profession, -income, or need of those we had visited. Not a personal note (we who -made copious personal notes), not a detail (we who had a passion -for detail), only a blurred memory of general misery, or rooms -behind cow-houses and stables, through the filthy, manure-soddened -straw of which we had to pick our way, or rooms without glass in the -window-frames, of dark, noisome holes where human beings herded, of -sacks of straw laid on the floor, of rags for bedding, of human misery -in its acutest, most wretched form. The Curé talked of evil landlords -who exploited these unfortunate people, "Mais Dieu les punira," he -added unctuously. We wondered if the prophecy brought consolation to -the refugees. And above all the welter of swiftly-changing impressions, -I can see even now, in a dark room lighted only by or through the -chimney-shaft, a room filled with smoke that choked and blinded us, -a small child, perhaps eighteen, perhaps twenty-four months old, who -doubled her fists into her eyes and laid her head on her grandmother's -shoulder, refusing to look up. - -"She has been like that since the bombardment," her mother explained. - -When the priest raised the little head the child wailed, a long, thin, -almost inhuman wail; when her grandmother put her down she lay on the -floor, her eyes crushed against her fists. - -"She will not look at the light, nor open her eyes." - -"How long has she been like this, Madame?" - -"Since we left home. The village was shelled; it frightened her." - -"We will ask our _infirmière_ to look after her," we promised, knowing -that the nurse in question had successfully treated a boy in Sermaize -who had been unable to open his eyes since the bombardment of the town. -And some weeks later we heard that the baby was better. - -Into every house the Curé made his way, much as Justice Shallow might -have done. In every house he reeled off a set piece about the good -English who had come to succour France in her distress, about our -devotion, our courage, our wealth, our generosity. He asked every woman -what she needed. "Trois couvertures? Bon. Mettons trois. Un seau? Bon, -mettons un seau. Sheets? Put down two pairs." - -We put down everything except what we most desired to know, the names -and ages of the half-clothed children--that he gave us no opportunity -of doing, was there not always the list?--we saw the Society being -steered rapidly towards bankruptcy, but, mesmerised by his twinkling -eyes, we promised all he required. Then he, who had been sitting on the -only chair, would rise up, and having told the pleased but bewildered -lady of the house that we were emissaries of Le bon Dieu, would stalk -out, leaving us to wonder, as we followed him, whether Madame ever -asked why the good God chose such strange-looking messengers. The -oilskins were possessed of no celestial grace--I subsequently gave mine -to a refugee. - -Luncheon! The good Curé stopped dead in his tracks. The _œuf à la -coque_ was calling. Back we trailed, still dripping, still muddy, even -more earthly and less celestial than before, back to the house that had -such a delicious old garden, and where fat rabbits grew daily fatter -in their cages. The table was spread in a panelled room hung with -exquisite old potteries. Seated solemnly, the Curé trying to conceal -himself behind a vast napkin, the end of which he tucked under his -collar, to us entered the _bonne_ carrying six boiled eggs in a bowl. -Being sufficiently hungry, we each ate two; they were more or less -liquid, so Monsieur tilted up the egg-shell and drank his down with -gulping noises, while we laboured unsatisfyingly with a spoon. Then -came the _bonne_ with a dish of grilled rabbit (it was delicious); we -ate rabbit. Then came a large dish of beans; we ate beans. We were -sending out wireless messages by this, but no relief ship appeared on -the horizon. The priest groaned over the smallness of our appetites, -and shovelling large masses of beans into his mouth, explained that -it is sinful to drink too much because the effects are demoralising, -depraving, bringing ruin on others, but one may eat as much or more -than one wants or likes, as a superfluity of food does no harm. A -little physical discomfort, perhaps, but that passes. Injury to the -spirit? None. - -Then he commented on the strides Roman Catholicism was making in -England, the most influential people were being converted--we thought -he must be apologising to himself for his country's alliance with a -people of heretical creed, but later on I realised that this idea is -very prevalent among the priests of the district. An old man at Behonne -congratulated me on the same good tendency. It had not occurred to -him that I was of another faith, so there was an awkward moment when -I--as in honour bound--admitted the error, but he glided over it with -characteristic politeness, and our interview ended as amicably as it -began. - -At N. we volunteered the information that I was Irish, which shed balm -on the Curé's perturbed soul. Though not of the right way of thinking, -one of us came of a nation that was. That, at least, was something, and -a compliment to the evangelising Irish saints of mediæval times--had -not one of them settled in the district, teaching the people and -bringing the Gospel-light into paths shadowed by infidelity?--steered -us round what might have been an awkward corner. - -The beans finished, there came a cheese of the country, rich and creamy -and good. We ate cheese, but we no longer looked at each other. The -cheese finished, in came a massive cherry tart; we ate tart, then we -drank coffee, and then Monsieur, rising from the table, opened the -door, stood in the hall and said ---- No. I think I had better not tell -you what he said, nor where he waved us to. If ever you go to N. and -have a meal with him you will find out for yourself. During lunch one -of us admired his really very beautiful plates. "You shall have one," -he said, and taking two from the wall, offered us our choice. Of course -we refused, and the relief we read in his eye as he hung them up again -in no way diminished our appreciation of his action. - -Then we paid more visits, and yet more, and more, and finally, the rain -having cleared, we walked home again in a balmy evening down the wide -road under the communal fruit trees, where the woods which clothed the -hill-side were to look like wonderful tapestry later on, when autumn -had woven her mantle of russet and red, and dull dark crimson, and -sober green, and browns of rich, light-haunted shades and flung it over -the trees. Walked home soberly, as befitted those who had dined with a -gourmand; walked home expectantly, for was not the list, the careful, -exhaustive, all-comprehensive list of the Curé to follow on the morrow? - -It was and it did, and with it came the following letter which we -perused with infinite delight. How, oh, how could he say that the miry, -inarticulate bipeds who trotted dog-like at his heels did their work -_avec élicatesse_? How, oh, how aver that we did it under his "modest" -guidance? - -Yet he said it. Read and believe. - - "Mesdames, et excellentes dames, - - "J'ai l'honneur de vous offrir l'hommage de mes sentiments les plus - reconnaissantes et les plus devoués pour tout le bien que vous faites - autour de vous avec tant de délicatesse et de générosité. Je prie Dieu - de vous benir, vous et tous les membres de vos chères families, de - donner la victoire aux vaillantes armées de l'Angleterre, de Russie, - et de France et n'y avons nous pas le droit car vous et nous nous - representons bien la civilisation, l'honneur et la vraie religion. Je - vous envoie ci-joint la liste (bien mal faite) des pauvres émigrés - que vous avez visités sous ma modeste direction. Il en est qui manque - de linge et pour les vieux qui out besoin de vêtements on pourra leur - donner l'étoffe, ils se changeraient de la confection ce qui je crois - serait meilleur. - - "Veuillez me croire votre tout devoué." - -The list was by no means all comprehensive, it was not careful, it was -indeed _bien mal faite_, and it exhausted nothing but our patience. Our -own demented notes were the best we had to work upon, and so it befell -that one day some soldiers drove a vast wagon to our door and in it -we piled, not the neat _paquets_ of our dreams, but blankets, sheets, -men's clothes, women's clothes, children's clothes, _seaux_ and other -needful things and sent them off to N., where they were dumped in a -room, and where an hour or two later, under conditions that would have -appalled the stoutest, we fitted garments on some three hundred people, -while M. le Curé smiled wide approval and presented every _émigré_ -child in the village with a cap, a bonnet or a hat filched from our -scanty store. - -And then because the sun was shining and several batteries of -_soixante-quinze_ were _en repos_ in the village, we went off to -inspect them. The guns were well hidden from questing Taubes under -orchard trees, the men were washing at the fountain, or eating a -savoury stew round the camp kitchen, or flirting desperately with the -women. They showed us how to load and how to train a gun, and then the -priest, whom they evidently liked, for he had a kindly "Hé, mon brave, -ça va bien?" or an affectionate fat-finger-tap on the shoulder for -them all, bore us off to visit an artillery officer who had been doing -wonderful things with a _crapouillot_. We found him in a beautiful -garden in which, on a small patch of grass, squatted the _crapouillot_, -a torpedo fired from a frame fixed in the ground. Alluding to some -special bomb under discussion, the lieutenant said, "It isn't much, but -this--oh, this has killed a lot of Boches." - -He helped to perfect it, so he knew. We left him gazing affectionately -at it, a fine specimen of French manhood, tall and slender, but -strongly made, with clear humorous eyes, and breeding in every line of -him. - -I often wonder whether he and his _crapouillot_ are still killing "lots -of Boches," and whether he ever exclaims as did a woman who saw them -breaking over the frontier in 1914, "What a people! They are like ants: -the more of them you kill, the more there are." - -We would have liked to linger in the sunny flower-encrusted garden, but -R. awaited us. There with consummate skill we evaded M. le Curé, and -did our visiting under no guidance but our own. A quaint little village -is R., deep enbosomed in swelling uplands, with woods all about it, -but, like N., stricken by neglect and poverty. The inhabitants of both -seemed rough and somewhat degraded, a much lower type than the majority -of our refugees, but perhaps they were only poor and discouraged. The -war has set so many strange seals upon us, we may no longer judge by -the old standards, no longer draw conclusions with the light, careless -assumption of infallibility of old. - - - - -CHAPTER X - -PRIESTS AND PEOPLE - - -I - -Having tasted the delights of a mild vagabondage, we now turned our -thoughts to other villages, modestly supposing that by degrees we could -"do" the Meuse. (Had we but known it the whole of France lay before us, -refugees everywhere, and every refugee in need). Having requisitioned a -motor-car we planned tours, but first we investigated Behonne on foot. -It lies on the hill above the aviation ground, so let no man ask why it -came first in our affections. - -I suppose it would be impolitic to say how many sheds there were, or -how many aeroplanes we used to see squatting like great winged beetles -on the ground, and then rising so lightly, so delicately, spiralling -higher and higher, and then darting away with swift wing far into the -shimmering blue. - -Although Behonne is at the top of a hill, it has managed to tuck -itself into a hollow--so many French villages have this burrowing -tendency--and all you can see of it as you approach is the top of the -church spire rising like a funny candle-extinguisher above the ridge -of the hill. The village itself is dull and uninteresting, but the -surrounding country beautiful beyond measure, especially when the corn -is ripening in the sun; the refugees for the most part not necessitous, -having driven from home in their farm carts, magnificently throned on -feather beds and _duvets_, with other household goods. - -Two houses, however, made a lasting impression. In one, in a room in -the centre of which was a well (boarded over of course), lived a woman, -her two children, and an old man in no way related to them. The walls -were rotting, in many places straw had been stuffed in to fill fissures -and holes, the ceiling was broken, enterprising chunks of it making -occasional excursions to the floor below, and one window was "glazed" -with paper. The doors, through which rats gnawed an occasional way, -were ill-fitting; in bad weather the place was a funnel through which -the wind whistled and tore. The woman had one blanket and some old -clothes with which to cover herself and her children at night, the old -man had a strip of carpet given him by the Curé, a kindly old man of -peasant stock and very narrow means. The room was exceedingly dirty, -the children looked neglected, the woman was ill. - -In the other house was a cheery individual whose husband had been -a cripple since childhood. She told us she had four children, the -youngest being three years old. He came running in from the street, -a great fat lusty thing, demanding to be fed, and we learned to our -astonishment that he was not yet weaned. Eugenically interesting, this -habit of nursing children up to the age of two or even three years of -age is not uncommon, and it throws a strong light upon the psychology -of French Motherhood. - -A few miles beyond Behonne lies Vavincourt, sacred to the omelette of -immortal memory--but oh, what a day it was that saw us there! A fierce -wind that seemed to tear all the clothes from our bodies blew from the -north, there were some inches of snow on the ground, light powdery -snow fell incessantly. We were frozen as we drove out, we froze still -harder as we made our way from house to house, slipping and sliding on -the treacherous snow, absorbing moisture through our boots, staggering -like wooden-legged icicles into rooms whose temperature sensibly -declined with our advent. A day of supreme physical discomfort; a day -that would surely have been our last had not the Mayor's wife overtaken -us in the street and swept us into her kitchen, there to revive like -flies in sunshine, under the mellifluous influence of hot coffee and -omelette, _confitures_ and cheese. - -It was in Vavincourt that we first saw women embroidering silk gowns -for the Paris shops. The panels in pale pink were stretched on a frame -(_métier_), at which they worked one on either side; a common method, -as we discovered during the winter. In Bar-le-Duc we had come upon a -few women who worked without a _métier_, but as time went on more and -more _brodeuses_ of every description came upon our books, and so an -industry was started which lived at first more or less by taking in its -own washing, but later blossomed out into more ambitious ways. Orders -came to us from England, and a consignment of dainty things was sent to -America, but with what result I cannot say, as I left Bar before its -fate was decided. - -The Verdun and Nancy districts appear to be the chief centres of the -_broderie_ industry, the latter being so famous that girls are sent -there to be apprenticed to the trade, which, however, is wretchedly -paid, the rate being four sous, or rather less than twopence, an -hour, the women finding their own cotton. We gave six sous and cotton -free--gilded luxury in the workers' eyes, though sweating in ours, and -trusted to their honesty in the matter of time, a trust which was -amply repaid, as with one or two exceptions they were scrupulous to -a degree. The most amusing delinquent was a voluble lady from Resson -who glibly replied, "Oh, at least sixty hours, Mademoiselle," to every -question. - -"What, sixty hours to do THAT?" we would remonstrate, looking at a -small tray-cloth with a _motif_ in each corner. - -"Well, à peu près, one does not count exactly; but it was long, long, -vous savez." A steely eye searched ours, read incredulity, wavered; -"Six francs fifty? Eh, mon Dieu, on acceptera bien cela." And off she -would go, to come back in faith with the same outrageous story on the -next market day. Perhaps there is excuse for a debt of six francs -swelling to eighteen when one walks ten miles to collect it. - -Quite a hundred women inscribed their names on our _broderie_ -wages-sheet, the war having dislocated their connection with their -old markets. The trade itself was languishing, the workers scattered -and unable to get into touch with former employers, for Paris shops -do not deal direct as a rule, they work through _entrepreneuses_, or -middlewomen, who now being themselves refugees were unable to carry on -their old trade. It was almost pitiable to see how the women snatched -at an opportunity of working, only a very few, and these chiefly -_métier_ workers, being still in receipt of orders from Paris. Some -whom we found difficulty in employing were only _festonneuses_, earning -at the best miserable pay and doing coarse, rough work, quite unfit for -our purpose--buttonholing round the necks and arms of cheap chemises, -for instance. Others were _belles brodeuses_, turning out the most -exquisitely dainty things, fairy garments or house-linen of the most -beautiful kind. - -Of all ways of helping the refugees there was none better than this. -How they longed for work! The old people would come begging for -knitting or sewing. "Ça change les idées," they would say. Anything -rather than sit day after day brooding, thinking, going back over the -tragic past, looking out upon the uncertain future. Every franc earned -was a franc in the stocking, the _bas de laine_ whose contents were to -help to make a home for them once more when the war was over. And what -could be better than working at one's own trade, at the thing which -one loved and which lay in one's fingers? When the needle was busy -the mind was at rest, and despair, that devourer of endurance, slunk -abashed out of sight. For they find the time of waiting long, these -refugees. Can you wonder? Wherever we went we heard the same story; in -village or town we were asked the same question. Each stroke of good -fortune, every "push," every fresh batch of prisoners brought the sun -through the low-hanging clouds; every reverse, the forced inactivity -of winter, drew darkness once more across the sky. In the villages -the people who owned horses were fairly well off, they could earn -their four francs a day, but the others found little comfort. Work was -scarce, their neighbours often as poor as themselves. There are few, if -any, big country houses ruled by wealthy, kind-hearted despots in these -districts of France. In all our wanderings we found only one village -basking in manorial smiles, and enjoying the generosity of a "lady of -the house." The needy had to fend for themselves, and work out their -own salvation as best they might. The reception given to the Belgians -in England read to them like a fairy tale, and fostered wild ideas of -England's wealth in their minds. "All the English are rich," they would -cry; "have we not heard of les milords anglais?" They received accounts -of the poverty in our big cities with polite incredulity; if our own -people were starving or naked, why succour foreigners? - -Sometimes they smiled a little pityingly. "The English gaspillent -tout." Spendthrifts. And they would nod sapient heads, murmuring things -it is not expedient to set down. It may even be indiscretion to add -that between the French and the Belgians no love is set, some racial -hatred having thrust its roots in deep. - -It is in the winter that vitality and resistance-power run lowest, -especially in the villages, for though work may be found in the fields -during the summer, the long dark winter months drag heavily by. -_Brodeuses_ would walk eight miles in and eight out again in the most -inclement weather to ask for work, others would come as many weary -miles to get a hank or two of wool with which to knit socks and shawls. -Sometimes one woman would take back work for half a dozen, and always -our field of operations spread as village after village was visited and -the Society became known. - -They came in their tens, they came in their hundreds, I am tempted to -swear that they came in their thousands. Madame soon ceased to announce -them, they lined the hall, they blocked the staircase, they swirled -in the Common-room. There were days when all the resources of the -establishment failed, when _broderie_ ran short and wool ran short, -when there were no more chemises or matinées waiting to be made up, and -when our hair, metaphorically speaking, lay in tufts over the house, -plucked from our heads by our distracted fingers. They came for work, -they came for clothes, they came for medicine and medical attendance, -they came for food--only the very poorest these--they came for -condensed milk for their babies, or for _farine lactée_, or for orders -for admission to the Society's hospitals at Châlons and Sermaize, or to -ask us to send their children to the _Colonies des Vacances_, or for -paper and packing to make up parcels for husbands at the Front. They -came to buy beds and pillows and bolsters at reduced prices and on the -instalment plan, paying so much per month according to their means; -they came for chairs and cupboards, or for the "trousseau," a gift--it -may be reckoned as such, as they only contributed one franc fifty -towards the entire cost--of three sheets, four pillow-cases and six -towels, each of which had to be hand-stitched or hemmed, and marked or -embroidered with the owner's name. They came to ask for white dresses -and veils--which they did not get--for candidates for confirmation, -they came for sabots and boots, and sometimes they came for the whole -lot. - -"Well, Madame, ça va bien?" Thus we greeted a hardy old campaigner in -the street one day. - -"Eh bien, ça va tout doucement." Then with an engaging smile, "I am -coming to see you to-morrow." - -"Indeed? And what do you want now?" This looks crude, but we laboured -under no delusions where Madame Morge was concerned. It was not for the -sake of our _beaux yeux_ that she visited us. - -"Eh, ma fois, un peu de tout," she replied audaciously, and we shot -at her a mendacious, "Don't you know that distributions have ceased?" -which left her calling heaven and her gods to witness that the earth -was crumbling. - -Villagers who lived too far away for personal visits wrote, or their -Mayor or their priest wrote for them. We had by this time organised our -system, and knew that the person who could supply us with a complete -and detailed list was the Mayor, or his secretary the schoolmaster. - -Sometimes these worthies were hard of heart, assuring us that no one -in the commune was necessitous, but we knew from experience that the -official mind is sometimes a superficial mind, judging by externals -only, so we persisted in our demand, and were invariably satisfied in -the end. Others, and they were in a large majority, met us with open -arms, cheerfully placed their time and their knowledge at our disposal, -were hospitable, helpful and kind, and careful to draw our attention to -specially deserving cases. Once when on a tour of inquiry we stumbled -into a village during the luncheon hour. A regiment was resting there, -and, as the first English who presumably had set foot in it, we -were immediately surrounded by an admiring and critical crowd, some -imaginative members of which murmured the ominous word Spy. The Mayor's -house indicated, we rapped at the door, and in response to a gruff -_Entrez_ found ourselves in a small and very crowded kitchen, where -a good _pot-au-feu_ was being discussed at a large round table. The -situation was sufficiently embarrassing, especially as the Mayor, being -deaf, heard only a few words of our introductory speech, and promptly -wished all refugees at the devil. A list? He was weary of lists. Every -one wanted lists, the Préfet wanted lists, the Ministre de l'Intérieur -wanted lists. And now we came and demanded them. Who the--well, who -were we that he should set his quill a-driving on our behalf? - -"Shout 'Anglaises' at him." It was a ticklish moment. He was on the -point of throwing us out neck and crop. The advice was taken, the roar -might have been heard in Bar. - -"English? You are English?" - -Have you ever seen a raging lion suddenly transform itself into a nice -brown-eyed dog? We have, in that little kitchen in a remote village of -the Meuse. Our hands were grasped, the Mayor was beaming. A list? He -would give us twenty lists. English? Our hands were shaken till our -fingers nearly dropped off, and if we had eaten up all the _pot-au-feu_ -Monsieur would have deemed it an honour. However, we didn't eat it. -Monsieur's family was gazing at it with hungry eyes, and even the best -of Ententes may be strained too far. - -When we reached the street again the crowd had fraternised with our -chauffeur, and we drove away under a pyrotechnical display of smiles. - -Another day a soldier suddenly sprang off the pavement, jumped on the -step of the motor-car, thrust some freshly-roasted chestnuts into my -hand and was gone before I could cry, "Thank you." - -We met many priests in these peripatetic adventures, the stout, -practical and pompous, the autocratic, the negligent (there was one who -regretted he could tell us nothing: "I have only been fifteen months -here, so I don't yet know the people"), the old--I remember a visit -to a presbytery in the Aube, and finding there a charming, gentle, -diffident creature, a lover of books, poor, spiritual, half-detached -from this world, very close to the next. He had a fine church, pure -Gothic, a joy to the eye of the connoisseur, but no congregation. Only -a wee handful of people who met each Sunday in a side chapel, the great -unfilled vault of the church telling its own tale of changed thought -and agnostic days. - -But most intimately of all we came to know the Abbé B. who lived in our -own town of Bar, because, greatly daring, we rang one evening at his -door and asked him to teach us French. - -We had heard of him from Eugénie, and knew that he taught at the École -St Louis, that he was a refugee--he escaped from M. on his bicycle a -few minutes before the Germans entered it--and that his church and his -village were in ruins. But we had never seen him, and when, having rung -his bell, escape was no longer possible, an awful thought shattered us. -Suppose he were fat and greasy and dull? Could any ingenuity extract -us from the situation into which we had thrust ourselves? We felt sure -it could not, so we followed Eugénie with quaking hearts, followed her -to the garden where we found a short, dark man with a humorous mouth -and an ugly, attractive face, busily planting peas. We nodded our -satisfaction to one another, and before we left the arrangement was -made. - -Our first lesson was devastating. The Abbé credited us with the -intelligence of children, telling us how to make a plural, and how -by adding "e" a masculine word can be changed into a feminine; fort, -forte; grand, grande; and so on. Then he gave us a _devoir_ (home -work), and we came away feeling like naughty children who have been put -into the corner. His parlour was stifling, and how we rejoiced when the -weather was fine, and we could hold our class in the garden. I can see -him now standing by the low wall under the arbour, his gaze turned far -away out across the hills. "It is there," he pointed, "the village. Out -there near St Mihiel." - -For twenty-seven years he had ministered there, he had seen the -children he baptised grow to manhood and womanhood, and had gathered -their children, too, into the fold of Christ. He had beautified and -adorned the church--how he loved it!--year after year with tireless -energy and care, making it more and more perfect, more and more fit -for the service of the God he worshipped. And now it is a ruin blown -to fragments by the guns of friend and foe alike, and his people are -scattered, many of them dead. He came to Bar penniless, owning just the -clothes he stood up in, and he told me once that his income, including -his salary at the school and a grant from some special fund, was just -one hundred francs a month. Scarcely a pound a week. - -Once hearing me say that I was not rich, he asked me the amount of my -income, adding naïvely, "I do not ask out of curiosity," and I felt -mean as I dodged the question, for an income that is "not riches" in -England looks wonderfully like wealth in a refugee's parlour in Bar. - -All his dream, all his desire is to go back to M. and build his -church again. The church the central, the focussing point, then the -schoolhouse, then homes for the people, that is his plan; but he has -no money, his congregation is destitute--or nearly so--he cannot look -to the Government. Whence, then, will help come? So he would question, -filling us with intense desire to rush back to England and plead for -him and his cause in every market square in the land. He would go back -to M. now if they would allow him to, he will go back with or without -permission when the slaughter ends. - -"The valley is so fertile," he would say; "watered by the Meuse, it is -one of the richest in France. Such grass, such a _prairie_. And after -the war we must cultivate, cultivate quickly; they cannot allow land -like ours to be idle, and so we shall go back at once." - -"But," we said, "will you be able to cultivate? Surely heavy and -constant shell-fire makes the land unfit for the plough?" - -We knew what the ground is like all along the blood-stained Front, -hundreds of miles of it fought over for four interminable years, its -soil enriched by the hallowed dead, torn and lacerated by shells, -incalculable tons of iron piercing its breast, and knew, too, that -Death lurks cunningly in many an unexploded bomb or mortar or shell, -and that prolonged and costly sanitation will be necessary before man -dare live on it again. Yes, the Abbé knew it too, but knew that a strip -of his richest land lay between two hills, the French on one, the -Germans on the other, and not a trench dug in all the length between. -No wonder hope rode gallantly in his breast, no wonder he saw his -people going quietly to their labour, and heard his church bell ringing -again its call to peaceful prayer. And then he would revert again to -the ever-present problem, the problem of ways and means. - -Ah, we in England do not know how that question tortures the heart -of stricken France. Shall I tell you of it, leaving the Abbé for the -moment to look out across the hills, the reverberant thunder in his ear -and infinite longing in his loyal heart? - - -II - -A little poem of Padraic Colum's springs to my mind as I ask myself how -to make you realise, how bring the truth home to those who have never -seen the eternal question shadow the eyes of homeless men. One verse -of it runs-- - - "I am praying to God on high, - I am praying Him night and day, - For a little home, a home of my own, - Out of the wind and the rain's way." - -and it just sums up the refugee desire. - -You--if you are a refugee--had a home once, you earned a livelihood; -but the home is laid waste and bare, your livelihood has vanished, and -in all probability your savings with it. - -You buried what money you had in the cellar before you left, because -you thought you were only going away for a few weeks, and now the -Germans have found it. You know that they pour water over cellar -floors, watching carefully to see whether any percolates through. If it -does it is clear that the earth has recently been disturbed, so away -they go for shovels and dig; if it doesn't they try elsewhere. There -is the well, for instance. A carefully-made-up packet might lie safely -at the bottom for years, so what more suitable as a hiding-place? -What, indeed, says the wily Hun as he is cautiously lowered into the -darkness, there to probe and pry and fish, and if he is lucky to drag -treasure from the deeps. Or you may have hidden your all under that -white rock at the end of the garden. The rock is overturned to-day, and -a hole shows where the robber has found your gold. - -A gnarled tree-trunk, a post, a cross-road, anything that might serve -as a mark lures him as sugar lures the ant; he has dug and delved, and -searched the surface of France as an intensive culturist digs over -his patch of ground. He has cut down the communal forests, the famous -cherry and walnut trees of Les Éparges have all been levelled and the -timber sent into Germany; he has ripped up floors, torn out window -frames; he falls on copper and steel and iron with shrieks of joy; he -is the locust of war, with the digestion of an ostrich; he literally -"licks the platter clean," and what he cannot gorge he destroys. - -So if you are a refugee you ask yourself daily, "What shall we find -when we go back? How shall we start life afresh? Who will rebuild our -houses, restock our farms and our shops, and indemnify us for all we -have lost? France? She will have no money after the war, and Germany -will be bankrupt." - -What can we, sheltered and safe in England, know of such sorrow as -this? To say we have never known invasion is to say we have never known -the real meaning of war. It may and does press hardly on us, but it -does not grind us under foot. It does not set its iron heel upon our -hearts and laugh when the red blood spurts upon the ground; it does -not take our chastity in its filthy hands and batten upon it in the -market-place; it doesn't rob us of liberty, nor of honour, nor does -it break our altars, spuming its bestialities over the sacred flame. -Our inner sanctuaries are still holy and undefiled. Those whom we have -given have gone clear-eyed and pure-hearted to the White Temple of -Sacrifice, there to lay their gift upon the outstretched hand of God: -not one has died in shame. - -Whatever the war may have in store for us--and that it has much -of suffering, of hardship, of privation and bitter sorrow who can -doubt?--if it spares us the violation of our homes and of our -sanctuaries, if it leaves our frontiers unbroken, if it leaves us FREE, -then, indeed, we shall have incurred a debt which it will be difficult -to pay. A debt of gratitude which must become a debt of honour to be -paid in full measure, pressed down, and running over to those, less -fortunate than ourselves, who will turn to us in their need. - -And in the longed-for days to come France will need us as she needs -us now. She will need our sympathy, our money, our very selves. She -will no longer call on us to destroy in order to save, she will call -on us to regenerate, redeem, to roll away the Stone from her House of -Death, and touching the crucified with our hand, bid them come forth, -revivified, strong and free. - -Yes, there will be fine work to do in France when the war is over! -Constructive work, the building up of all that has been broken down; -work much of which she will be too exhausted to undertake herself, work -of such magnitude that generations yet unborn may not see it completed. - -A new world to make! What possibilities that suggests. Rolling away -the Stone, watching the dead limbs stir, the flush of health coming -back into the grey, shrivelled faces, and light springing again into -the eyes. Seeing Joy light her lamps, and Hope break into blossom, -seeing human hearts and human souls cast off the cerecloths and come -forth into the fruitful garden. Surely we can await the end with such a -Vision Beautiful as that before us, and--who knows?--it may be that in -healing the wounds of others we shall find balm for our own. - -The Return. If the French visualise it at all, do they see it as a -concrete thing, a long procession of worn, exhausted, but eager men -and women winding its way from every quarter of France, from the far -Pyrenees, from the Midi, from the snow-clad Alps, from the fertile -plains, winding, with many a pitiful gap in its ranks, back over -the thorn-strewn road? Is that their dream? Yet it may be that the -reality is only the beginning of another exile, as long, as patient, as -difficult to endure. - -Hard-headed, practical, unimaginative reformers of the world's woes -sometimes blame the refugees who have remained so near the Front. - -In Bar house-rent is high, living exceedingly dear. Legends such as -"_Le sucre manque_: _Pas de tabac_: no matches; no paraffin," are -constantly displayed in the shop windows, wood has more than doubled -in price, coal is simply _hors de prix_. Milk, butter and eggs are -frequently unobtainable, and generally bad; gas is an uncertain -quantity as coal is scarce, and has a diabolic knack of going out just -when you need it most. All of which things do not lend to the gaiety -of nations, still less to that of the _allocation_-supported refugee. -If troops are being moved from one part of the Front to another, the -_Petite Vitesse_ ceases from its labours and supplies are cut off from -the town. Farther south these lamentable things do not happen, but -farther south is farther from home. And there's the rub! For home is a -magnet and would draw the refugee to the actual Front itself, there to -cower in any rude shelter did common sense and _l'autorité compétente -militaire_ not intervene. - -So as many as possible have stayed as near the barrier as possible. -And--this is a secret, you mustn't divulge it--these wicked, wily, -homeless ones are plotting. They are afraid that after the war the -Government will bar the road now swept by German guns; that orders -will go forth forbidding return; that railway station _guichets_ will -be barred and roads watched by lynx-eyed policemen whom no bribe can -corrupt--they will be very special policemen, you know--no tears -cajole. - -And so they plan to slip back unobserved. If one is at the very door, -not more than the proverbial hop, skip and jump away--well, the magnet -is very powerful, and even Jove and Governments nod sometimes. And -just as the head drops forward and the eyes close, _hey presto_! they -will be over the border, and when the barrier closes down they will be -inside, and all the gendarmes in France will not be able to put them -out again. If they can't GO home, they will SNEAK home. They will get -there if they have to invent an entirely new mode of locomotion, even -if they have to live in cellars or shell-holes and eat grass--but there -may not be any grass. Didn't Sermaize live in cellars and exist on -nothing at all?--live in cellars and grow fond of them? There is one -old lady in a jolly little wooden house to-day, who suffers from so -acute a nostalgia for her cellar she is afraid to walk past the ruins -that cover it. If she did, she declares, the beautiful little wooden -house would know her no more. The cellar was as dark and as damp as the -inside of a whale, and it gave her a rheumatism of the devil in all -her bones, but she lived in it for three years, and in three years one -attaches oneself, _ma foi_, one forms _des liaisons_. So she sits and -sighs while the house-builders meditate on the eternal irony of things, -and their pride is as a worm that daws have pecked. - -So be sure the refugees will go back just as soon as ever they can go, -as the Abbé plans to go, caring little if it is unwise, perhaps not -realising that even if Peace were declared to-morrow, many years must -pass before the earth can become fruitful again, many years must set -behind the hills of Time before new villages, new towns, new cities can -spring from the graves of the old. - -Personally, I hope that some of these graves will be left just as -Germany has made them, that a few villages, an historic town or two -will be carefully guarded and preserved, partly because ruin-loving -America will pay vast sums to see them, and so help to rebuild others, -and partly because--am I a vindictive beast?--I want them to remain, -silent, inexorable witnesses of the true inwardness of the German -method and the German soul, if anything so degraded as she is can be -said to have a soul. "Lest we forget," these ghosts of towns should -haunt us for ever, stirring the memory and quickening the imagination, -a reproach to conscience, an incorruptible judge of blood-guiltiness, -which we should neither pardon nor forget till the fullest reparation -has been made, the utmost contrition has been shown. And it must be no -lip-service either. By its deeds we must know it. I want to see Germany -humbled to the very dust; I want to see Germany in sackcloth and ashes -rebuilding what she has destroyed, sending new legions into France, but -armed this time with shovel and with pick, with brick and with mortar; -I want to see those legions labouring to efface the imprints of the -old; I want to see Germany feeding them and paying them--they must -not cost France one sou; I want to see her in the white shroud of the -penitent, candle in hand, barefoot and bareheaded before the Tribunal -of the World, confessing her sins, and expiating them every one in an -agony not one whit less poignant than that which she has inflicted upon -others. Yes, let the destroyer turn builder. And until she does so let -us ostracise her, cut her out of our Book of Life. Who are we that we -should associate with the Judas who has betrayed civilisation? - -A refugee rarely spoke of the Germans without prefixing the adjective -dirty--_ces sales Boches_--and the Abbé was no exception to the -rule; indeed, he was plain-spoken to bluntness on most occasions. His -criticisms of our French compositions would have withered the vanity of -a Narcissus, and proved altogether too much for one timid soul, who, -having endured a martyrdom through two lessons, stubbornly refused to -go back any more. Which was regrettable, as on closer acquaintance he -proved to be rather a lovable person, with a simplicity of soul that -was as rare as it was childlike. - -Like the Curé of N., he presumed us Roman Catholic, asked us if -England were not rapidly coming into the light, and commented upon -the "conversion" of Queen Victoria shortly before her death. Though -it shook him, I think he never quite believed our denial of this -remarkable story, and have sometimes reproached myself for having -deprived him of the obvious comfort it brought him; but he took it all -in good part, and subsequently showed us that he could be broad-minded, -and tolerant as well. - -"Charity knows no creed," he cried, and it was impossible to avoid -contrasting his implicit faith in our honesty, his steady confidence -that we would never use our exceptional opportunities for winning the -confidence and even the affection of the people for any illegitimate -purpose, with the deep distrust of the average Irish priest. The -hag-ridden fear of Proselytism which clouds every Irish sky dares not -show its evil face in France, nor did we ever find even a breath of -intolerance tainting our relations with priests or with people. - -But then perhaps they, like the Abbé, realise that our error of faith -is a misfortune rather than a fault. Having been born that way, we were -not wholly responsible. Indeed the Abbé went so far as to assure me -that I was not responsible at all. - -"Then who is, M. l'Abbé?" I questioned, reading condemnation of some -one in his eye. - -"Henry the Eighth," he replied, with exquisite conviction, and I -gasped. Henry the Eighth! - -"Assurement." Had he not a quarrel with his Holiness the Pope, and -being greedy for temporal power renounced Catholicism in a fit of rage, -and so flung the English people into the profundities of spiritual -darkness? We--we other Protestants--are his victims; our error of faith -is one for which we shall neither be judged nor punished, but he ... I -realised that Henry deserved all my sympathy; he is not having too good -a time of it _là bas_. Of course it was comforting to know that we were -blameless, but privately I thought it was rather unfair to poor old -Hal, who surely has enough sins of his own to expiate without having -those of an obscure bog-trotting Irishwoman foisted upon him as well. - -"Yours," went on the Abbé, "is natural religion, the heritage of your -parents; ours is revealed. Some day I will explain it to you, not--this -very naïvely--with any desire to convert you, but in order to help you -to understand why truth is to be found only in the arms of the Roman -Church." - -It puzzled him a little that we should be Protestant, it was so -austere, so comfortless, so cold. "La scène-froide" was the expression -he used in describing our services, "les mystères" when talking of his -own. He denounced as the grossest superstition the pathetic belief of -many an Irish peasant in the infallibility, the almost-divine power of -the priesthood, and, unlike his colleagues in that tormented land, he -is an advocate of education even on the broadest basis. "Let people -think for themselves; if you keep too tight a rein they will only -revolt." - -That he detests the present form of Government goes without saying, -his condemnation being so sweeping the big pine tree in the garden -positively trembled before the winds of his rage. "Anything but this," -he cried, "even a monarchy, même un Protestant, même le Roi Albert. -Atheists, self-seekers all, they are ruining France," and then he -repeated the oft-heard conviction that the war has been sent as a -punishment for agnosticism and unbelief. - -For Prefêts and Sous-Prefêts he entertains the profoundest contempt, -even going as far as to designate one of the former, whom I heroically -refuse to name, a _gros, gras paresseux_,[8] and the Sous-Prefêts the -_âmes damnées_ of the Minister of the Interieur. How he hates the whole -breed of them! And how joyfully he would depose them every one! The -feud between Church and State has ploughed deep furrows in his soul, -and I gather that brotherly love did not continue long--supposing that -it ever existed--in M. when its waves swept the village into rival -factions. The Mayor, needless to say, was agnostic, and loyal to his -Government; the Abbé furious, but trying hard to be impartial, to -eschew politics, and serve his God. He might have succeeded had not the -spirit of mischief that lurks in his eye betrayed him and dragged him -from his precarious fence. He plunged into the controversy, but--oh, M. -l'Abbé! M. l'Abbé!--in patois and in the columns of the local Press. -Now his knowledge of patois, gathered as a boy, had been carefully -hidden under a bushel, and so the authorship of the fierce, sarcastic, -ironical letters was never known, nor did M. le Maire ever guess why -the priest's eyes twinkled so wickedly when he passed him in the street. - - [8] A big, fat, lazy thing. - -They twinkled as he told the story, thoroughly enjoying his little -ruse, but grew fierce again when he talked of Freemasons. To say -that he thinks Freemasonry an incarnation of the devil is to put his -feelings mildly. They are, he declares, the enemy of all virtue, -purity and truth; criminal atheists, hotbeds of everything evil, their -"tendency" resolutely set against good. They are insidious, corrupt; -defilers of public morals and public taste. - -"But, M. l'Abbé," I cried, "that is not so. In England----" I gave him -a few facts. It shook him somewhat to hear that the late King Edward, -whom he profoundly admires, was a Mason, but he recovered himself -quickly. - -"Perhaps in England they may seem good, there may even be good people -among them, poor dupes who do not see below the surface. THERE all is -corruption, the goodness is only a mask worn to deceive the ignorant -and the credulous. Ah, the evil they have wrought in the world! It was -they who brought about the war (its Divine origin was for the moment -forgotten), they were undermining Europe, they would drag her down into -the pit, to filth and decay." - -It was odd to hear such words from the lips of so kindly, so wise a -man, and one with so profound a knowledge of human nature. He told me -that in all his years of ministry at M. there was only one illegitimate -birth in the village--a statement which students of De Maupassant will -find it difficult to believe. - -We were talking of certain moral problems intensified by the war, the -perpetually recurring "sex-question," not any more insistent perhaps -in France than elsewhere, but obtruding itself less ashamedly upon -the notice. It was the acceptance, the toleration of certain things -that puzzled me, an acceptance which I am sometimes tempted to believe -is due to some deep, wise understanding of human frailty, of the -fierceness of human passions, the weakness of human will when Love has -taken over the citadel of the heart. Or is it due to fatalism, the -conviction that it is useless to strive against what cannot be altered, -absurd to fight Nature in her unbridled moods? - -The priest, needless to say, neither accepted nor condoned. He blamed -public opinion, above all he blamed the unbelief of the people, and -then he told me of M. and the purity of the life there. Only one girl -in all those years, and she, after her baby was born, led so exemplary, -so modest a life that its father subsequently married her, and together -they built up one of the happiest homes in the village. (You will -gather that the Abbé was not above entertaining at least one popular -superstition in that he insinuated that all the blame rested on the -shoulders of the woman.) - -One other story he told me which flashed a white light upon his soul. -A certain atheist, one of his bitterest enemies, came to him one day -in deep distress of mind. His wife, an unbeliever like himself, was -dying, and, dying, was afraid. The man was rich, and thought he could -buy his way and hers into the Kingdom of Heaven. But the Abbé refused -his gold. "You cannot buy salvation nor ease of conscience," he said -sternly. "Keep your money; God wants your heart, and not your purse." -He attended the woman, gave her Christian burial, and asked exactly -the legal fee. Not one penny more would he take, nor could all the -atheist's prayers move him. - -He told me that he would not bury a man or a woman living in what he -called _le concubinage civile_, people married by the State only and -not by Church and State. For these, he said, there could only be the -burial of a dog, for they lived in sin, knowing their error as do the -contractors of mixed marriages if they do not ask for and receive a -dispensation. The rules governing these latter appear to be much the -same as those which hold good in Ireland. No service in a Protestant -church is permitted, and the Protestant must promise that all children -born of the union shall be baptised and brought up in the Catholic -faith. There is no written contract, and the promise may, of course, be -broken, but if the Catholic is a party to it he is guilty of mortal sin. - -You will see that as our classes ran their course--and circumstances -decreed that I should take the final lessons alone--we got very far -away from "s" for plural and "e" for feminine. Exercises corrected, -many an interesting half-hour we passed in the little parlour, and -many a tale of the trenches the Abbé gathered up for us, and many a -"well-founded, authentic" prophecy of the speedy termination of the -war. Ah, he was so sure he would be in his beloved M. this winter. -Did not his friend the Editor of--he mentioned a leading Paris -journal--tell him so? - -But this is the war of the unforeseen. Perhaps that is why some of us -dare to believe that when the end comes it will come suddenly, swiftly, -like thunder pealing through the heavy stillness of a breathless, -sullen night. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -REPATRIÉES - - -I - -"Mademoiselle, Mademoiselle, the children are coming!" - -Christmas had come and gone in a convulsion of parties, January -had dripped monotonously into the abyss of time. The day was dank -and cheerless, rain--the imperturbable rain of France--was falling -placidly, persistently, yet through the unfathomable seas of mud that -engulf Bar-le-Duc in winter I saw Madame Lassanne running towards me. I -was miry, wet and exceedingly cross; Madame was several times mirier, -her clothes were a sodden sop, but her eyes were like a breeze-ruffled -pool that the sun has been kissing. She clutched a telegram in one -shaking hand, she waved it under my eyes, she cried out something quite -unintelligible, for a laugh and a sob caught it and smothered it as she -fled. I watched her splash through the grey liquid sea--she was running -but she did not know it. The train was not due for an hour yet. - -Some days later I swam out to the farm (you don't walk in Bar in -winter unless you have webbed feet, and then you fly), and there I -found Madame Breda and the aunt whose name I have most reprehensibly -forgotten, and Roger and Marie, and yet another old lady, and Madame, -and they were all living in one small room and they all talked -together, and Roger--discerning infant--howled at my uniform, and -Marie stared at me out of great round eyes, and gradually little by -little I pieced together the story. - -When shells were falling on the village Madame Breda, as you know, -set off with the children, but turning north instead of south, walked -right into the line of battle. A handful of French (it was in August -1914) were flying before vastly superior German forces. They rode down -the road at breakneck speed. "Sauve qui peut!" The cry shattered the -air. One man's horse was shot under him. He scrambled to his feet, -terror in his eyes, for the Germans were close behind. A comrade reined -up, in a moment he had swung himself behind him and the mad race for -life swept on, the men shouting to Madame Breda to fly. "Sauvez-vous, -sauvez-vous." What she read in their eyes she never forgot. But flight -for her and the children was out of the question, they were literally -too frightened to move. A few minutes later they were toiling back -along the road to a little village called, I think, Canel, with German -soldiers mounting guard over them. There they were kept for six days, -during three of which no bread was obtainable, and they nearly died of -hunger. Then they were taken to Nantillois, their old home, where they -remained for two months. Food was scarce, the soldiers brutal. "There -are no potatoes," they cried to the Commandant; "what shall we eat?" -"Il y a des betteraves,"[9] he replied coarsely as he turned away. - - [9] Literally, "There is beet," but the peasants sometimes used the - word indifferently for any kind of root-vegetable such as turnips, etc. - -These French peasants must come of a sturdy stock, they are so -difficult to kill. They existed somehow--only the baby died. - -And then they were marched off again, this time to Carignan, once a -town of perhaps 2,500 inhabitants, of whom some 1,100 remained. Here -they were not treated badly, the garrison consisting of oldish men, -reservists, with little stomach for the atrocities that followed in the -wake of the first army. At Nantillois some ugly things appear to have -happened, but at Carignan the Mayor managed to _tenir tête_, behaving -like a hero at first and later like a shrewd and far-seeing man. - -Some day, I hope a volume will be written in honour of these French -mayors. Sermaize, left defenceless, was an exception. For the most -part they stuck to their posts, shielding and protecting them in -every way, raising indemnities from the very stones, placating irate -commandants, encouraging the stricken, and all too often dying like -gallant gentlemen when the interests of Kultur demanded that the blood -of innocent victims should smoke upon its altars. - -Madame Breda told me that the Mayor of Nantillois bought up all the -flour he could find in the mills and shops during the first week of -war, hiding it so successfully the Germans never found it. I confess I -received this information with frank incredulity, for knowing something -of the ways of the gentle Hun, I am profoundly convinced that if you -set him in the middle of the Desert of Sahara, telling him that a grain -of gold had been hidden there, he would nose round till he found it. -And it wouldn't take him long, for his scent is keen. But Madame was -positive. French wit was more than a match for German cunning, and the -flour was distributed by a man whose life would not have been worth -five minutes' purchase if his "crime" had been found out. - -In spite of the flour, however, and in spite of the washing that -brought Madame in a small weekly wage, "ce n'était pas gai, vous -savez." One doesn't feel hilarious on a ration of half-a-pound of -meat per week, half-a-pound of black bread per day, and potatoes and -vegetables doled out by an irascible Commandant. - -I wonder what we would feel like if we were obliged to go to a German -officer and beg from him our food? We would starve first? But what -if two small hungry children clutched at our skirts and wailed for -bread? When the American Relief came in and the people were able to buy -various necessaries, including bacon at one franc sixty a pound, things -were a little better. To those who were too poor to buy, that gem of a -Mayor gave _bons_ (free orders). - -And so the months went by. Then one day soldiers tramped about -selecting two people from one family, three from another, separating -mother from daughter, sister from sister, but happily this time -including the whole Breda family on their list. - -"You are to go away." - -"Away? Ah, God, where?" - -"Oh, to Germany, and then to Morocco." - -The poor wretches, believing them, were filled with infinite grief and -dismay. They were crowded into wagons and driven to Longuyon, herded -there like cattle for sixteen days, and finally taken through Germany -into Switzerland and thence into France. In Germany women wearing Red -Cross badges gave them food, treating them well; at the Swiss frontier -they were rigorously searched, a man who had one hundred and fifty -francs in German gold being given paper money instead, and losing, if -Madame Breda was correctly informed, thirty-six francs on the exchange. - -At Annemasse there is a _Bureau des Réfugiés_ so splendidly organised -that _repatriés_ can be put into immediate touch with their relatives, -no mean feat when you think of the dismemberment of Northern France. - -So behold Madame Breda joyfully telegraphing to Madame Lassanne, and -the latter waiting at the station with tears raining down her face, and -limbs trembling so much they refused to support her! - -Poor soul! The end of her calvary was not yet. Roger did not know -her. And his nerves had been so much affected by what he, baby though -he was, had gone through that for weeks he hid his face in his -grandmother's arms and screamed when his mother tried to kiss him. -Screamed, too, at sudden noises, at the approach of any stranger, or at -sight of a brightly-lighted room. No wonder he howled at the uniform. - -And old Madame Breda, staunch, loyal thing that she was, had been too -sorely tried. The long strain, the months of haunting anxiety and dread -had eaten away her strength, and soon after coming to Bar she sank -quietly to rest. - -She talked to me of Carignan once or twice, saying it was a vast -training-camp for German recruits, mere boys (_des vrais gosses_), few -over seventeen years of age. - -Once a French aviator, hovering over the town, was obliged to descend -owing to some engine trouble. He was caught, tried as a spy and -condemned to death. Asking for a French priest to hear his last -confession, he was told it could not be permitted. A German ministered -to him instead (what a refinement of cruelty!), and remaining with -him to the end, declared afterwards that he died "comme un héros, un -Chrétien, et un brave." - -Another aviator, similarly caught, was also shot, though both, by every -rule of the game, should have been treated as prisoners of war. - -"Ah, Mademoiselle, c'est un vrai calvaire qu'on souffre là bas," cried -Madame Breda, tears standing thick in her eyes; and thinking of other -_repatriées_ whom I had met and whose stories burned in the memory -I knew that she spoke only the truth. For _là-bas_ is prison. It is -home robbed of all its sacredness, its beauty, its joy, its privacy; -it is life without freedom, and under the shadow of a great fear. -Shall I tell you of those other _repatriées_? I promised to spare you -atrocities, but there is a martyrdom which should call forth all our -sympathy and all our indignation, and they, poor souls, have endured it. - - -II - -Madame Ballay is a young, slight, dark-eyed woman, wife of a railway -employee, into whose room I stumbled accidentally one day when looking -for some one else, an "accident" which happened so frequently in Bar -we took it as a matter of course. No matter how unceremonious our -entry, our reception was invariably the same, and almost invariably -had the same ending--that of a new name inscribed upon our books, a -fresh recipient gratefully acknowledging much-needed help. Almost -invariably, but not quite. Once at least the ending was not routine. A -dark landing, several doors. I knock tentatively at one, a voice shouts -_Entrez_, and I fling open the door to see--well, to see a blue uniform -lying on the floor and a large individual rubbing himself vigorously -with a towel. "Pardon, Madame!" he exclaimed, pausing in his towelling. -He was not in the least nonplussed, but for my part, not having come -to France to study the nude, I fled--fled precipitately and nearly -fatally, for the stairs were as dark as the landing, and my eyes were -still filled with the wonder of the vision. And though many months have -gone by, I am still at a loss to know why he told me to come in! - -But nothing will ever teach me discretion, and so I still knock at -wrong doors, though not always with such disastrous results, and often -with excellent ones, as it has enabled us to help people who would -have been too shy or too proud to knock at _our_ door and ask to be -inscribed upon our books. - -When the war broke out the Ballays, whose home was down Belmont way, -were living in Longuyon, where Monsieur had been sent some two years -before. They had very few friends, so when the mobilisation order -came, when from every church steeple rang out the clear, vibrant, -emotion-laden call to arms, Madame was left alone and unprotected -with her baby girl. There was no time to get away. The Germans surged -over the frontier with incredible swiftness, and almost before -the inhabitants knew that war had begun were in the streets. Then -realisation came with awful rapidity, for Hell broke loose in the town. -Shots rang out, wild screams of terror, oaths, shoutings, the rush of -frightened feet, of heavy, brutal pursuit. Women's sobs throbbed upon -the air, the wailing of children rose shrill and high; drunken ribald -song, hammering upon doors, orders sharply given! Madame cowering in -her kitchen saw ... heard.... She gathered her child into her arms. -Where could they fly for safety? The door was broken open, a German, -drunk, maddened, rushed in and seized her. Struggling, she screamed -for help, and her screams attracted the attention of some men in a -room below. They dashed up, and the soldier, alarmed, perhaps ashamed, -slunk away. Snatching up the child, the unfortunate mother fled to -the woods. There, with many other women and children, she wandered -for two days and two nights. They had no food, nothing but one tin -of condensed milk, which they managed to open and with which they -coloured the water they gave the children. Starving, exhausted, unable -to make her way down through France, she was compelled to return to -the town, three-quarters of which, including the richer residential -portions, had been wantonly fired. The few people she had known were -gone, her own house destroyed. She wandered about the streets for five -days and nights, penniless and starving, existing on scraps picked up -in the gutter, sleeping in doorways, on the steps of the church. Then -she stumbled upon a Belmont woman living in a street that had escaped -destruction. The woman was kind to her, taking her in and giving her -lodging, but unable to give her food, as she had not enough for herself. - -Madame was nearly desperate when some German soldiers asked her to do -their washing, paying her a few sous, with which she was able to buy -food for herself and the child. But she was often hungry, there was -never enough for two. The men were reservists, oldish and quiet, doing -no harm and living decently. It was the first armies that were guilty -of atrocities, and in Longuyon their score runs high. They behaved -like madmen. Ninety civilians were wantonly shot in the streets, among -them being some women and children. A woman, Madame said, took refuge -in a cellar with several children--five, I think, in all; a soldier -rushed in with levelled rifle. She flung herself in front of the little -ones, but with an oath he fired, flung her body on one side and then -killed the children. Soldiers leaning from a window shot a man as he -walked down the street. They caught some civilians, told one he was -innocent, another that he had fired on them, shot some, allowed others -to go free; they quarrelled among themselves, they shot one another. -Women, as a rule, they did not shoot. But the women paid--paid the -heaviest price that can be demanded of them; nor did the presence of -her children save one mother from shame. I have heard of these soldiers -clambering to the roofs and crawling like evil beasts from skylight to -skylight, peering down into dark attics and roof-rooms, searching for -the shuddering victims who found no way of escape. And then, their rage -and fury spent, they swept on, crying, "Paris kaput, À Paris, Calais, -Londres. London kaput. In a fortnight" ... and the reservists marching -in took their places. - -For seven months Madame Ballay was unable to leave the town. She knew -nothing of what was happening in France, heard no news of her husband, -did not know whether he was dead or alive. - -"But I was well off," she said, "because of the washing. There were -women--oh, rich women, Mademoiselle, bien élevées--who slowly starved -in the streets, homeless, houseless, living on scraps, on offal and -refuse. Sometimes we spared them a little, but we had never enough for -ourselves." - -Seven months jealously guarding the two-year old baby from harm and -then repatriation, a long, weary journey into Germany, a night in a -fortress, then by slow stages into Switzerland and over the frontier to -France. - -What a home-coming it might have been! But the baby had sickened; -underfed and improperly nourished, it grew rapidly worse, it had -no strength with which to fight, and M. Ballay, hurrying down from -Bar-le-Duc in response to his wife's telegram (she discovered his -whereabouts through the _Bureau des Réfugiés_), arrived just two hours -after the last sod had been laid upon its tiny grave. - -"She was my only comfort during all those months," the poor creature -said, tears raining down her face, "and now I have lost her." When she -had recovered her self-control I told her I knew of people who refused -to believe stories of atrocities, and would certainly refuse to believe -hers. - -"It is quite true," she said simply, "I SAW it," and then she added -that the reservists sometimes gave food to the starving women who were -reduced to beg for bread. "When they had it they would give soup to -the children, but often they had none to spare, and the women suffered -terribly." - -Think of it, in all the rigour of a northern winter. Think of this for -delicately nurtured women. Madame shivered as she spoke of it, and it -was easy to tell what had painted the dark shadows under her eyes and -the weary lines--lines that should not have been there for many a long -year yet--round her mouth. - - -III - -For us the whole system--if, indeed, there is any system--of -repatriation was involved in mystery. Convoys were sent back at erratic -intervals, chosen at haphazard, young and old, strong and weak, just -anyhow as if in blind obedience to a whim. No method appeared to govern -procedure, convoys being sometimes sent off just before an offensive, -sometimes during weeks of comparative calm. - -Probably the key to the mystery lay in the military situation; we -noticed, for instance, that many were sent back just before the -offensive at Verdun. Food problems, too, may have exerted an influence, -as every _repatriée_ assured us that Germany was starving. In the -winter of 1915-1916 so many of these unfortunate people crossed the -frontier, the Society decided to equip a Sanatorium for them in the -Haute-Savoie, near Annemasse. Many were tubercular, others threatened -with consumption, but no sooner was the Sanatorium ready than the -Germans, as might be expected, stopped the exodus, and it was not until -the following winter or autumn that they began to come in numbers -again. Of these, a doctor who worked among them for many weeks gave -me a pathetic account. Their plight, she said, was pitiable. They -wept unrestrainedly at finding themselves on French soil again; -even the strongest had lost her nerve. Shaken, trembling in every -limb, starting at every sound, they had all the appearance of people -suffering from severe mental shock; many were so confused as to be -almost unintelligible, others had lost power of decision, clearness of -thought, directness of action. The old were like children. There were -women who sat day after day, plunged in profound silence from which -nothing could rouse them. Others chattered, chattered unceasingly -all day long, babbling to any one who would listen, utterly unable -to control themselves. Some were thin to emaciation, others, on the -contrary, were rosy and plump. Of food they never had enough. That -was the complaint of them all. The American supplies kept them from -starvation. "One would have died of hunger only for that," they said, -but the Germans would not allow free distribution. What they got they -had to pay for, but in some Communes the Mayors were able to arrange -that penniless folk should pay after the war, _i. e._ the Commune lent -the money or paid on condition that it would be refunded later. - -Coffee made chiefly from acorns, black bread, half-a-pound of meat per -week (a supply which sometimes failed), these Germany provided--that is -to say, allowed to be sold, and it is but just to add that though every -woman declared that the Boches themselves went hungry, those I spoke to -added that they never tampered with the American supplies, though one -or two mentioned that inferior black flour was sometimes substituted -for white of a better quality. Paraffin was rarely obtainable, and fuel -scarce. - -Martial law, of course, prevails. House doors must never be locked, -windows must be left unbarred, there are fixed hours for going to -the fields, fixed hours after which one must be indoors at night. Any -soldier or officer may walk into any house at any hour he chooses. "You -never know when the butt-end of a rifle will burst your door open and -a soldier walk in." A man passing down the street and looking in at -a window sees a woman with her children sitting down to their midday -meal. It is frugal enough, but it smells good. - -He realises that he is hungry, he stalks in and helps himself to what -he wants. If they go without, what matter? Falsehoods of every kind are -freely circulated. France has been defeated; England has betrayed her; -the English have seized Calais; the English have been driven into the -sea; London has fallen. With the utmost duplicity every effort is made -to undermine faith in the Alliance, to persuade people that England is -a traitor to their cause, hoodwinking them in order to gain her own -ends. - -A peasant told one of our workers that she, too, had been a prisoner, -and though hungry, was not otherwise ill-treated. One day when she and -the other women went to get their soup the Germans, as they ladled -it out, said, "There is dessert for you to-day" (the dessert being -repatriation). "Yes, you are going back to France; but there is no -bread there, so we don't know how you will live. You must go through -Switzerland, where there is no food either. The best thing for you to -do is to throw yourselves into Lake Constance." - -It is by such apish tricks as these that the lot of the unhappy people -is made almost intolerable. - -No letters, no newspapers, no news, only a few guarded lines at rare -intervals from a prisoner in Germany--is it any wonder that the -strongest nerves give way, and that hysterical women creep over the -frontier to France? They are alone, they are cold and hungry, and oh, -how desperately they are afraid! They dare not chat together in the -street, a soldier soon stops all THAT, and at any moment some pitiful -unintentional offence may send them under escort into Germany. - -A woman owns a foal, chance offers her an opportunity of selling it; -she does so, and is sentenced to imprisonment in Germany for a year. -She has sinned against an unknown or imperfectly understood law. She -has no counsel to defend her; her trial, if she is honoured with one, -is the hollowest mockery. - -There is living in the rue St Mihiel in Bar-le-Duc, or there was in the -spring of 1917, a woman who spent six months in a German prison. Her -offence? A very natural one. She had heard nothing of her husband for -two years; then one day a neighbour told her she had reason to believe -that he was a prisoner in Germany. A hint to that effect had come in a -letter. If Madame wrote to a soldier in such and such a prison he might -be able to give her news of him. - -The letter was written, despatched, and opened by the German censor. -Now it is a crime to try and elicit information about a prisoner even -if he happens to be your husband, and even if you have heard nothing -of him for two long years. Madame was separated from her children and -speedily found herself in a German prison--one, too, which was not -reserved for French or Belgian women, but was the common prison of a -large town. Here she was classed with the "drunks and disorderlies," -the riff-raff, women of no character, and classed, too, with Belgian -nuns and gentlewomen, many of them of the highest rank, whose offence -was not that of writing letters, but of shielding, or being accused of -shielding, Belgian soldiers from the Germans who were hunting them down -like rats. - -Compelled to wear prison clothes, to eat the miserable prison fare, -work and associate with women of the worst character, many of them -had been there for years, and some were serving life-sentences. -Representations had been made on their behalf, but for a long time in -vain. Then as a great concession they were given permission to wear -their own clothes and exercise in a yard apart, but the concession was -a grudging one, and when one of the nuns dared to ask for more food she -was promptly transferred back again to the main building. - -When the release of prisoners is being discussed round the Peace Table, -it is to be hoped that the needs of these women will not be forgotten. - - -IV - -It happened to be my fortune to visit within a fortnight two women, -natives of Conflans-Jarny, both _repatriées_ and neither aware that -the other was in the town. Indeed, I think they were unacquainted. -Yet each told me identically the same story. One was the wife of a -railway employee, the other of rather better position and a woman of -much refinement of mind. Both came to Bar early in 1917, and both were -profoundly moved as they told their tale. - -"We did not know the Germans were coming," they said. "People thought -they would pass over on the other side of the hill." And so, in spite -of heavy anxiety, Conflans went about its usual affairs one brilliant -August day. There were only a few troops in the town--even the military -authorities do not seem to have suspected danger; but the sun had not -travelled far across the cloudless sky when down from the hill a woman, -half distraught, half dead with fear came flying. - -"The Germans!" she gasped, and looking up Conflans saw a wide tongue -of flame leaping upwards--the woman's farmhouse burning--and wave upon -wave of grey-coated men surging like a wind-driven sea down every road, -down the hill-side. The soldiers seized their rifles, their hasty -preparations were soon made, they poured volley after volley into the -oncoming mass, they fought till every cartridge was expended and their -comrades lay thick on the ground. Then the Germans, who outnumbered -them ten, twenty, fifty to one, clubbed their rifles and the massacre -began. There was no quarter given that day. "They beat them to death, -Mademoiselle, and we--ah, God! we their wives, their sisters, their -mothers looked on and saw it done." Conflans lay defenceless under the -pitiless sun. Some twenty-seven civilians, including the priest, were -promptly butchered in the streets, and one young mother, whose baby, -torn from her arms, was tossed upon a bayonet, was compelled to dig a -hole in her garden, compelled to put the little lacerated body in a -box, compelled to bury it and fill in the grave. Other things happened, -too, of which neither woman cared to speak. - -And so Conflans-Jarny passed into German hands. - -As time wore on Russian prisoners were encamped there. They worked in -the fields, in the mines and in the hospitals. - -"Ah, les pauvres gens! Figurez-vous, Mademoiselle, in the winter when -snow was on the ground, when there was a wind--oh, but a wind of ice! -they used to march past our street clad only in their cotton suits. -Some had not even a shirt. They were dying of cold, but they were so -strong they could not die. They were blue and pinched. They shook as if -they had an ague. Sometimes, but not often, we were able to give them -a little hot coffee; they were so grateful, they tried to thank us.... -(Tears were pouring down Madame Cholley's face as she spoke.) I worked -in the hospital because I had no money with which to buy food--they -gave me two sous an hour--and I used to see _les pauvres Russes_ -grubbing in the dust-bins and manure heaps looking for scraps; they -would gnaw filth, rotten vegetable stumps, offal, tearing it with their -teeth like dogs. Once as they marched I saw one step into a field to -pick up a carrot that lay on the ground. The guard shot him dead. And -those that worked in the mines--ah, God only knows what they suffered. -They lived underground, one did not know, but strange stories reached -us. So many disappeared, they say they were killed down there and -buried in the mine." - -Then silence fell on the little room, silence broken only by the sound -of Madame's quiet weeping. - -Presently she told me that the allowance of food was one pound of -coffee a month, coffee made chiefly from acorns, four tins of condensed -milk at nineteen sous a tin, for three people, and one pound of fat per -head per month. Haricot beans were not rationed, and bread she must -have had, too, but I omitted to make a note of the amount. There was no -paraffin, so in the winter she tried to make candles out of thread and -oil, but the latter was dear and scarce. Meat "had not been seen in the -commune for a year." - -"Oh yes, the Germans are starving." - -This was the text from which every _repatrié_ tried to draw comfort, -and it may be inferred that there was shortage in the villages. Once -I even heard of shortage in a hospital, my informant being a young -man, manager of a big branch store in the Northern Meuse, who had been -married just three months before war was declared. He was wounded in -August 1914 and taken to Germany, where one leg was amputated, the -other, also badly injured, being operated on at least twice. Yet in -December 1916 it was not healed. He was well treated on the whole, he -told me, but his food was wretched. Coffee and bread in the morning, -thin soup and vegetables at midday, coffee and bread at night. - -"When we complained the orderlies said we got exactly the same food as -they did," and he, too, added the unfailing, "Germany is starving." - -A pathetic little picture he and his wife made in their shabby room, -she a young, pretty, capable thing who nursed him assiduously, he -helpless on his _chaise-longue_ with yet another operation hanging -over him. The wound was suppurating, it was feared some shrapnel still -remained in the leg. Pension? He had none, not even the _allocation_. -He had applied, of course, but was told he must wait till after the -war. He had not even got the _Medaille Militaire_ or the _Croix de -Guerre_, though he said it was customary in France to give either one -or the other to mutilated and blinded men. - -There must be many sad home-comings for these _repatriés_. So many get -back to find that those they loved have been killed or have died while -they were away, so many return to find Death wrapping his wings closely -about the makeshift home that awaits them. - -"They sent me to Troyes because my husband was working on the railway -there, but for a whole day I could get no news of him. Then they said -he was at Châlons in the hospital. I hurried there--he died two hours -after my arrival in my arms." - -How often one hears such stories. And yet one day the world may hear a -still more tragic one, the day when the curtain of silence and darkness -that has fallen over the kidnapped thousands of Lille and Belgium is -lifted, and we know the truth of them at last. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -STORM-WRACK FROM VERDUN - - -I - -"The French are evacuating some villages near Verdun, and I hear there -are a number of refugees at the Marché Couvert to-night," one of the -coterie remarked as she came in one evening from her rounds. It seemed -a little odd that villages should be evacuated by the _French_ just -then, but we had long since ceased to be surprised at anything. In the -War Zone everything is possible and the unexpected is the probable, so -we piled on waterproofs and goloshes and woollies, for it was a cold, -wet night, and set forth in all our panoply of ugliness for the Covered -Market. - -The streets were as dark as the pit, only a pale cold gleam showing -where the river lay. The sky was heavily overcast, a keen wind cut -down from the north. The pavement on the quay was broken and rough, -we splashed into pools, we jolted into crevasses, we bent our heads -to the whistling storm, we reached the market at last. The wide gates -were open, and the vast floor, with its rows of empty stalls, loomed -like a vault before us. The heavy, sickly odour of stale vegetables, -of sausage and of meat, of unaired space where humanity throngs on -several days a week clutched at us as we went in. We were to become -very familiar with it in the weeks that followed--weeks during which -it daily grew heavier, sicklier, more nauseating, more horrible. - -On the left of the market as you enter from the quay there is a broad -wooden staircase which leads to a still broader wooden gallery that -runs right round the building. At the top we turned to the right. The -gallery was dimly lighted, dark figures huddled on it here and there; -we crossed the lower end and found ourselves in a wide space, really a -large unenclosed room which had been hastily improvised as a kitchen. A -short counter divided it into two very unequal portions, in the smaller -being some old _armoires_, two large steamers or boilers, a table piled -with plates, dishes and small and handleless bowls, used instead of -cups. Another littered with glasses, and in the corner a big barrel of -wine. - -Two or three women were probing the contents of the boilers; men -rushed excitedly about, one was chopping bread, another filling jugs -with wine, a _garde-champêtre_ with a hoarse voice was shouting -unintelligible orders, a gendarme or two hung about getting in -everybody's way, and in the outer space seethed a mob of men, women -and children in every condition of dishevelment, mud, misery and -distress. Five or six long tables with benches of the light garden-seat -variety crossed this space. Seated as tightly as they could be squeezed -together were more refugees devouring a steaming soup. Everything wore -an air of confusion; the light was bad, one paraffin lamp swaying -dimly over the scene. We saw a door, guarded by two officials, -_garde-champêtres_, or something of the kind; we passed through, and -there we saw a sight which I am convinced no one of us will ever -forget. - -Picture an enormous room, like a barrack dormitory. There are -windows--some five or six--on each side. Half-way down and opposite -one another there are two stoves in which good fires are burning. The -glow from the open doors falls on the gloom and throws into relief the -stooped figures, broken with fatigue, that cluster dejectedly round -them. A lamp throws fitful shadows. The air is brown. Perhaps you think -this an absurd thing to say, but it was so. It hung like a pale brown -veil over the room, and as weeks went by the colour deepened, and in -breathing it one had the sensation of drawing something solid into -one's lungs. It smelt, too, with an indescribable smell that became -intensified every day, until at last a time came when it required a -definite effort to penetrate it. It seemed to hurl you back from the -doorway; you began to think it must be sentient. It was certainly -stifling, poisonous, fœtid, and as I write I seem to feel it in my -nostrils again, seem to feel the same nausea that seized us when we -breathed it then. Over all the floor-space there is straw, thick, -tossed-up straw, through which, running past the stoves, are two narrow -lanes, one down either side. And on the straw lie human beings, not -many as yet, only those who have supped, or who, waiting for the meal, -have thrown themselves down in the last stages of physical and mental -exhaustion. Babies wail, women are sobbing, the _gardes-champêtres_ -shout in rough voices. Bales, bundles, hand-grips, baskets lie on the -straw; there an old woman is lying wretchedly, her head on a canvas -bag; here two boys are sprawling across one another in heavy, uncouth, -abandoned attitudes. - -We go about among the people talking to them, but they are dazed -and weary. Did we learn that night that the great attack upon Verdun -had begun, or did we only know of it some days later? So packed with -incident were those first days I cannot remember, but it seems to -me now that knowledge came later, and that we came home that night -wondering, questioning, our hearts filled with pity for those we had -left homeless upon that awful straw. - -We came again into the outer room. More refugees were arriving, little -groups of bewildered creatures, muddy, travel-stained, dog-weary, yet -wonderfully patient and resigned. There are no sanitary arrangements of -any kind in the building, there is not a basin, nor a towel, nor a cake -of soap of which the refugees can make use. - -The next evening we go again, supposing that the evacuation must be -complete, that this river of human misery will cease to flow through -the town, but little by little we realise that it is only beginning. - -Days lengthen into weeks, and still the refugees come through. We know -now that Verdun is in danger, that the Germans have advanced twelve -kilomètres; we watch breathlessly for news, the town is listening, -intent, anxious, and every day the crowds at the market grow denser. -We spend much of our time there now, we have brought over basins, and -soap and towels; we have put a table in the inner room, so that those -who will may refresh themselves and wash. The rooms are packed. There -must be at least three hundred or four hundred people, and still more -drift in. Some have been in open cattle trucks for thirty-six hours -under rain and snow, for the north wind has become keener and the rain -has hardened into fine sleety snow; it is bitterly cold, the roads and -streets are awash with mud, women's skirts are soddened to the knee, -men are splashed shoulder high. A number of people have fallen ill -_en route_, others, seriously ill, have been compelled to leave their -beds and struggle as best they might with the healthy in their rush -to safety. We hear that the civil hospital is full, that babies have -been born on the journey down--been born and have died and were buried -by the way. Despair rides on many a shoulder, fear still darkens many -eyes. Some have escaped from a storm of shell-fire, many have had to -walk long distances, for the railway lines have been cut. Verdun is -isolated--Nixieville is the nearest point to which a train may go--and -all have left their homes unguarded, some being already blown to atoms, -others momently threatened with a like fate. - -In spite of all our anxiety as we made our way to the market that -second night, laden with basins and jugs, _seaux hygiéniques_, and -various other comforts, we could not help laughing. We must have -cut funny figures staggering along in the darkness with our uncouth -burdens. Happily it WAS dark, and then not happily, as some one trips -over an unseen obstacle and is only saved from an ignominious sprawl in -the mire by wild evolutions shattering to the nerve. At the market we -cast what might be called our "natural feelings" on one side and bored -our way into the throng, our strange utensils and luggage desperately -exposed to view. _Que voulez-vous? C'est la guerre!_ The phrase covers -many vicissitudes, but it did not cover the shyest of our coterie -when, having deposited her burden on the gallery for a moment in order -to help a poor woman, she heard a crash and a round French oath, -and turning, beheld a certain official doing a weird cake-walk over -things that were never intended to be trodden upon by man. It was the -same shy member whose indignation at the lack of proper accommodation -bore all her native timidity away and enabled her to persuade the -same official to curtain off a small corner at the far end of the -gallery and furnish it as a toilet-room for the women, a corner which -to our eternal amusement was ever afterwards known as "le petit coin -des dames anglaises." However, the _petit coin_ was not in existence -for two or three days, and while it was in process of manufacture we -were more than once moved to violence of language, though we realised -that physical fatigue may reach a point at which, if conditions be -unfavourable, no veneer of civilisation can save some individuals from -a lapse into primitive ways. - -In the inner room the crowd was dense as we struggled in with our -apparatus for washing. There was something essentially sordid in the -scene. The straw looked dirty, the people were muddier, more wretched. -Many were weeping, and very many lying in unrestful contorted attitudes -upon the ground. In such a crowd no one dare leave her luggage -unguarded, and so it was either gripped tightly to the body, even in -sleep, or else was utilised as a pillow. And no one of those who came -in by train or _camion_ was allowed to bring more than he or she could -carry. - -All the misery, all the suffering, all the heart-break of war seemed -concentrated there, and then quite suddenly out of ugliness and squalor -came beauty. A tall woman with resigned, beautiful face detached -herself from the throng, a naked baby wrapped in a towel in her arms. -As unconcernedly, as unselfconsciously as if she were at home in her -own kitchen she came to the table, filled a basin with warm water, and -sitting down, bathed the lusty crowing thing that kicked, and chewed -its fists, gurgling with delight. - -It was the second time she had been evacuated, she told us. She had -seven children, her husband was a farmer and well-to-do. Their home -destroyed, they had escaped in August 1914, taking refuge in Verdun, -where they had remained, gathering a little furniture together again, -trying to make a home once more. She neither wept nor complained. I -think she was long past both. Fate had taken its will of her, she could -but bow her head, impotent in the storm. Her children, in spite of -their experiences, looked neat and clean, they were nicely spoken and -refined in manner. Soon the dusky shadows of the room swallowed her up -and the human whirlpool swirled round us once more, from it emerging -Monsieur B., the "certain official," and his wife who merely came to -look round, who made no offer to help, and who must not be confounded -with THE Madame B. who was the special providence of our lives. - -What Monsieur B. thought when he found us more or less in possession -I cannot say, but this I know--that he, in common with every one -with whom our work brought us into official contact, showed himself -sympathetic, helpful, forbearing and kind. He fell in with suggestions -that must have seemed to him quixotic to a degree; he never insinuated, -as he might have done, that our activities bordered upon interference, -nor did he ask us how English officials would have received French -women if the situation had been reversed! At first, thinking, no doubt, -that the evacuation was only an affair of two or three days, none of -the charitable women of the town thought it necessary to visit the -Market, so all the care of the unfortunates was left in the hands of -some half-dozen men; but later on, as the stream continued to pour -through, and the congestion became more and more acute, many women, -some after a hard day's work, came in the evenings and helped to serve -the meals. Of course, as soon as they took things in hand we slid into -the background, though we found our work just as engrossing and as -imperative as ever, but how Madame B. could have walked through those -rooms that evening and have gone away without making the smallest -effort to ameliorate the conditions baffled our comprehension. However, -she added to the gaiety of nations by one remark, so we forgave her. -Seeing some respectably-dressed women who had obviously neither washed -nor combed for days, we indicated the "washing-stand." - -"We are too tired to-night," they said. "In the morning...." - -"One would have thought they would have found it refreshing," we -murmured to Madame B., who was essaying small talk under large -difficulties. - -"Ah, yes, I cannot understand it. For me, I wash myself every night, -even if I am tired." The exquisiteness of that "_même_ si je suis -fatiguée" carried us through many a hectic hour. - -And hours at the market were apt to be hectic. The serving of meals -was a delirium. In vain we begged the guards to keep the door of -communication closed, and allow only as many as there was room for -at the tables to come to the "dining-room" at a time. They admitted -the soundness of the scheme, but they made no attempt to carry it out. -Consequently, no sooner was a meal ready than ravenous people poured -out in swarms, snatched places at the tables and filled up every inch -of space between, ready to fall into a chair the moment it was vacated. -We had to elbow, push, worm or drive a way from table to table, from -individual to individual; we grew hoarse from shouting "_Attention!_" -We lost time, patience, breath and energy, and meals that might have -been served with despatch were a kind of wild scrimmage, through which -we "dribbled" with cauldrons of boiling soup or vast platters of meat, -with plates piled like the leaning Tower of Pisa--be it written in gold -upon our tombstones that the towers never fell--or with telescopic -armsful of glasses and bowls. And against us rose not only the solid -wall of expectant and famished humanity, but the incoming tide of new -arrivals, all of whom had to pass between the tables and the serving -counters in order to reach the inner room. Sometimes six hundred had to -be fed, sometimes as many as twelve hundred passed through in a day, -and--triumph of French organisation--very rarely did supplies run out, -very rarely were the big tins of "singe"[10] (which the shy member -really supposed was monkey!) brought into play. The meals themselves -were excellent. Hot soup from a good _pot-au-feu_ made from beef with -quantities of vegetables, then the beef served with its carrots and -turnips, leeks, etc., that cooked with it, then cheese or jam, and -wine. Coffee and bread in the morning, a three-course meal at midday, -another at six--no wonder Bar-le-Duc was eulogised. Never had such a -reception been dreamed of. "The food was delicious, excellent.... We -shall have grateful memories of Bar." - - [10] Singe (monkey), the soldier-slang for bully-beef. - -But the awful sleeping accommodation weighed heavily on our -consciences--the brown pall of atmosphere, the fœtid SOLID smell, the -murky lamp, the fitful glow of the fires, and on the floor on the dirty -inadequate straw a dense mass of human beings. Lying in their clothes -just as they came from the station, or as they left the big _camions_ -in which many were driven down, not daring even to unlace their boots, -they were wedged so tightly we thought not even a child could have -found space. Some, tossing in their sleep, had flung themselves across -neighbours too exhausted to protest; acute discomfort was suggested -in every pose; many were sitting up, propped against their bundles; -children lay anyhow, a heterogenous mass of arms and legs, or pillowed -their heads against their mothers. - -"Surely," it was said as we came away, "surely the cup of human misery -has never been so full." - -Yet we were told the next day that during the night a fresh convoy -had come in, and that the _garde-champêtre_, tramping up and down the -narrow lane in the straw, shouted, "Serrez-vous, serrez-vous," forcing -the wretched creatures to be in still closer proximity, to sleep in -even greater discomfort. - - -II - -Soon the numbers grew too large for the space, and the long gallery -running down from the "dining-room" was converted into a sleeping -apartment, a screen of white calico or linen serving as an outer wall. -The upper end through which we passed in order to gain access to -the original rooms was utilised for meals, a number of tables being -brought in and ranged as closely as possible together. Even then the -congestion and confusion continued; they were, indeed, an integral part -of all Marché Couvert activities, but to our great relief the sleeping -quarters were improved. A number of palliasse cases, the gift of a -rich woman of the town, were filled with straw, and over most we were -able to pin detachable slips made from wheat bags, an immense number -of which--made from strong, but soft linen thread--had been offered -to us at a moderate price by the Chamber of Commerce acting through -the Mayor. Three of these, or four, according to the size required, -sewn cannily together made excellent sheets--greatly sought after by -the refugees--indeed, we turned them to all kinds of use as time went -on. The slips were invaluable now, as, needless to say, the palliasse -covers would have been in a disgusting condition in a week, but it -was not until the Society presented the new dormitory with twelve -iron bedsteads and some camp beds that we felt that Civilisation was -lifting up her head again. The beds were placed together at the far end -of the dormitory and were primarily intended for sick people or for -better-class women who, unable to find a lodging in the town, had to -accept the doubtful hospitality of the market. Unhappily there were -many of these, and it was heartrending to see women sitting up in the -comfortless chairs all night in the cold eating-place rather than face -the horror of the straw and the crowded common-room. - -Once the beds were installed that contingency no longer arose, though -Heaven knows the new apartment was squalid and miserable enough; the -beds ranged at the lower end, the palliasses running in close-packed -rows by each wall, space enough in the middle to walk between, but no -more. - -One day we found one of our camp beds at the upper end with a -fox-terrier sitting on it, and on inquiry were told that a _garde_ -had taken it, evicting two poor old women as he did so. Now we had -never intended those beds for lusty officials, so we very naturally -protested, but a more than tactful hint reduced us to silence. The -_gardes_ had it in their power to make things very unpleasant for us -if they felt so inclined; it would be politic to say nothing. Having -no official standing, we said nothing. What we thought is immaterial. -Later the gendarme was the Don Juan of an incident to which only a Guy -de Maupassant could do justice. There, in all that misery, in that -makeshift apartment packed with suffering humanity, with children and -young girls, with modest and disgusted women looking on, human passions -broke through every code of decency and restraint. The scandal lasted -for three days, then the woman was sent away. - -Meanwhile the news from Verdun was becoming graver. The roads were cut -to pieces, motor-cars, gun-carriages, _camions_ were burying themselves -axle-deep in the mire; one road impassable, another was made, but by -the time the first was repaired the second was a slough. The weather, -always in league with the Germans, showed no sign of taking up, wet -snow was falling heavily.... "Three more days of this and Verdun must -fall." - -Soldiers subsequently told us that it was the _camion_ drivers who -saved the situation, for they stuck to their wagons day and night, -one snatching rest and sleep while another drove. They poured through -Bar-le-Duc in hundreds, the roar of traffic thundering down the -Boulevard all day long. In the night we would lie awake listening. It -sounded like a rough sea dragging back from a stone-strewn shore. Once, -if soldier tales be true, "the Boches could have walked into Verdun -with their rifles over their shoulders. Four days and four nights we -lay in the open, Mademoiselle. Our trenches were blown to pieces, we -were cut off by the barrage, we had no food but our emergency rations, -no ammunition could reach us. Then our guns became silent. The Boches, -thinking it was a ruse, a trap, were afraid to come on. They thought we -were reserving fire to mow them down at close quarters, so they waited -twelve hours, and during that time our _camions_ brought the ammunition -up, and when they did come on we were ready for them." - -One lad of twenty, who told me the same tale, was home on leave when I -chanced to visit his mother and found the family at lunch. To celebrate -his return they were having a little feast--the feast consisting of -a tin of sardines and a bottle of red wine, in addition to the usual -soup and bread. The boy was a handsome creature, full of life and high -spirits, and in no way daunted by experiences that would have tried -the nerve of many an older man. He had been buried alive three times, -twice by the collapse of a trench, once by that of a dug-out into which -he and four others crawled under a storm of shells. "Fortunately I was -the first to go in, for a shell burst just outside, _ploomb_! killed -three and wounded one of my companions. The wounded man and I dug and -scratched our way out at the back." - -He, too, he said, had been without food for four days. - -"Weren't you hungry?" his mother asked, but he shook his head. - -"One isn't hungry when the _copain_ (pal) on the right is blown to -atoms, and the _copain_ on the left is bleeding to death." Then -followed casualty details that filled us with horror. - -"I saw men go mad up there. They dashed their brains out against walls, -they shot themselves. Oh, it was just hell! The shells fell so thick -you could hardly put a franc between them--thousands in an hour. The -French lost heavily, but the Germans.... I tell you, Mademoiselle, I -have seen them climbing over a wall of their own dead that high"--he -touched his breast--"to get at us. They came on in close formation, -drunk with ether. Oh, yes, it is quite true, we could smell the ether -in the French trenches. I have seen the first lines throw away their -rifles and link arms as they staggered to attack. Oh, we _fauché'd_ -them! But for me, I like the bayonet, you drive it in, you twist it -round"--he made an expressive noise impossible to reproduce--"they are -afraid of the bayonet, the Boches. Ah, it is fine...." - -He is the only man I have ever spoken to who told me he wanted to go -back. - -Day after day we watched breathlessly for the _communiqués_; evening -after evening we went to the market hoping for better news, but there -was no lifting as yet in the storm-cloud that hung above the horizon. -And still the refugees poured through. We spent the greater part of -each day at the market now, snatching meals at odd hours, and turning -our hands to anything. We swept floors, we stuffed palliasses with -straw--but we don't recommend this as a parlour game--we helped to -serve meals, we washed never-diminishing piles of plates and bowls, -forks and knives, we put old ladies to bed, we made cups of chocolate -for them when they were unable to tackle the _pot-au-feu_, we chopped -mountains of bread and cheese (our hands were like charwomen's), we -distributed chocolate and "scarlet stew"--both gifts from the American -Relief Committee--we sorted the sheep from the goats at night and--the -_garde_ apart--kept the new dormitory select. We became expert in -cutting up enormous joints of meat, our implements a short-handled -knife invariably coated with grease, a fork when we could get one, and -a small wooden board. So expert, indeed, that one day a woman hovered -round as we sliced and cut and hacked, watching us intently for some -minutes. Then, "Are you a butcher?" she asked. It was an equivocal -compliment, but well meant. You see, she was a butcher herself, and I -suppose it would have comforted her to talk to one of the fraternity. - -And as we slice the turmoil rises round us. A woman sits down to table -and bursts into violent uncontrolled weeping; a poor old creature -wanders forlornly about, finally making her way past the counter to -the boiler where the soup is bubbling. What does she want? "To put -some wood on the fire. She is cold, and where is her chair? Some one -has taken it away." Her brain has given way under the strain of the -last five days and she thinks she is at home. Snatches of conversation -float above the din. "It is three days since I have touched hot food." -"We slept in the fields last night." "Mais abandonner tout." Tears -follow this pathetic little phrase. A man and woman together, both over -eighty, white-haired and palsied, stray up to the counter. They cannot -eat, they want so very little, just some wine. The woman's skirts -drip as she waits; she has fallen into a stream as she fled from the -bombardment. They are established in a corner where they mutter and -nod, gibberish mostly, for the old man's wits are wandering. - -Suddenly the table begins to rock, one end rises convulsively from the -ground, plates and dishes begin to slide ominously. An earthquake? -Only a great brindled hound that some one tied to the table leg when -we were not watching. He lay down, slept happily, smelled dinner, has -risen to his majestic height and a wreck is upon us. The table sways -more ominously, then Fate, in the shape of the pretty Pre-Raphaelitish -_femme-de-ménage_ of the market, swoops down upon him and sends him -yowling into the crowd, through which he cuts a cataclysmal way. Dogs -materialise out of space, we are sometimes tempted to believe. They -live desperate lives, are under everybody's feet, appear, and disappear -meteor-wise, leaving trails of oaths behind them. A small child plants -himself on the floor, and seizing one of these itinerant quadrupeds, -tries to make it eat its own tail. The dog prefers to eat the child; -a wild skirmish ensues, there are shrieks and yowls that rend the -heavens, then a covey of women kick the dog into space, and snatching -up the child, carry him to the inner room, where they hold a parliament -over him amid a babel of tongues that puts biblical history to shame. - -A soldier, mud-stained, down from the trenches, comes to look for -his wife; a tall girl in a black straw cart-wheel hat, plentifully -adorned with enormous white daisies, flits here and there; a coarse, -burly man who has looked on the wine when it is red and who is wearing -a _peau-de-bicque_ (goat-skin coat), which I regard with every -suspicion, tries to thrust half-a-franc into my hand. Then comes an -alarm. The refugees are not told of it, but thirty Taubes are said to -be approaching the town. The meal goes on a little more breathlessly, -and we carry soup and meat wondering what will happen if the sickening -crash comes. But the French _avions_ chase the Germans away.... Late -that night I saw the half-witted old woman asleep on the floor, sitting -up, her back propped against a child's body, her knees drawn up to her -mouth. - - -III - -"There are refugees at the Ferme du Popey too." - -Surely there are refugees everywhere! The quarters at the market -have long since proved grotesquely inadequate, for not even the -"Serrez-vous, serrez-vous" of the _garde_ could pack three people -upon floor space for one, so schoolrooms and barrack-rooms were -requisitioned elsewhere, and now even the resources of the farm are -being drawn upon. The procession of broken, despairing people seemed -never-ending. We met them in every street, trailing pitifully through -the mire, or leading farm wagons piled high with household goods. Those -at the farm had all come down in carts, it was said, many being days -on the road, so, thinking we might be of use, we waded out to find the -extensive _basse-cour_ a scene of strange confusion. - -Soldiers in horizon-blue were cooking food in their regimental kitchens -for famished women and children, others were watering horses at the -pond; through the archway at the end we could see yet others hanging -socks and underlinen upon the fence; beyond ran the canal guarded by -its sentinel trees. Wagons filled the yard, men were shouting and -talking, officials moved busily here and there. We climbed a glorified -ladder to a long, low, straw-strewn loft which was murkily dark, the -windows unglazed, being covered by coarse matting which flapped in the -wind. Here a number of women were lying or talking in subdued groups -while children scrambled restlessly about, the squalor and misery being -heartrending. They were leaving immediately, there was nothing to be -done, so, having chatted with a few, we went away, telling a harassed -official that we were at his service if he had need of us. - -A day or two later this offer had strange fruit, for a horde of -excited people descended upon the Boulevard, rang at our door, swarmed -into the hall and demanded sabots. Now it happened that a short time -before a case of sabots had been sent to us by the American Relief -Committee (always generous supporters, supplying many a need)--a -case so vast that both wings of our front door had to be opened to -admit it--so we were able to invite the horde to satisfy its needs. -Instantly the hall became a pandemonium. They flung themselves upon -the box, they snatched, they grabbed, they chattered in high, shrill -voices--Meusienne women of the working-classes generally talk in a -strident scream--they tried on sabots, they flung sabots back into the -box; in short, they behaved very much as people do behave when their -cupidity is aroused and their nervous systems exhausted by an almost -unendurable strain. - -The commotion, rising in a steady crescendo, had risen _forte_, -_fortissimo_, when bo-o-om! thud! bo-o-om! bombs began to fall on the -town. The clamour in the hall died away, sabots dropped from nerveless -fingers. Bo-o-om! The cellar? _Où est-ce?_ Some one leads the way, and -then, while clamour of another kind seizes the skies, in the icy cellar -the mob of half-distraught creatures fall on their knees and chant the -Rosary. - -As a mist is wiped from a mirror by the passage over it of a cloth, -angers, passions, greeds were wiped from their eyes, their voices sank -to a quiet murmur. Like children they prayed, and the Holy Spirit -brooded for one brief moment over hearts that yearned to God. - -Then the raid ended, silence fell on the town, but round the sabot-box, -like gulls that scream above a shoal of fish, rapacity swooped and -dived, and its voice, sea-gull shrill, bit through the air. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -MORE STORM-WRACK - - -A small volume might be written about those days at the Marché Couvert, -about the war gossip that circulated, the adventures that were related. - -In spite of the terrific shelling of Verdun only one civilian -was reported to have been killed during that first week, and she -imprudently left her cellar. The bombardment was methodical. Three -minutes storm, then three minutes calm, then three minutes storm again. -Then the pulse-beat lengthened: fifteen minutes storm, fifteen minutes -calm. A priest told Madame B. that, stop-watch in hand, he was able to -visit his people during the whole of the time, diving in and out of -cellars with a regularity equalled only by that of the Germans. Two -women, on the other hand, ran about their village _comme des fous_ -for eight days, shells dropping four to the minute, but no one was -hurt, because the inhabitants had all gone to their cellars. How they -themselves escaped they did not know. They had no cellar, that was why -they ran. - -Another woman was in her kitchen when a shell struck the house. Seeing -that her sister was badly hurt she ran out, ran all the way down the -village street, scoured the vicinity looking for a doctor, found -one, brought him back, and as she was about to help him to dress her -sister's wound, realised that her foot was wet, and looking down saw -that her boot was full of blood. Not only had the shell, or a fragment -of shell, torn her thigh badly, but it had shattered her hand as well. -Only the thumb and index finger can be moved a little now, the other -fingers are bent and twisted, without any power, the arm is shrivelled -and cannot be raised above her head. - -This woman was one of several who were turned out of the Civil Hospital -one bitter afternoon when the wind cut into our flesh and sharp hail -stung our faces. No doubt the hospital was full, no doubt a large -number of bed or stretcher cases had come in, but somehow we could find -no excuse for the thoughtlessness which turned that pitiful band of -ailing, crippled, or blinded women into the dark streets to stumble and -fumble their way through a strange town and then face the horror of the -market. Some were frankly idiotic from fright, strain and age-weakened -intellect; all were terrified, cold and suffering. One, very old, sat -on the ground talking rapidly to herself. "She is détraquée," they -whispered, so she was tucked up on a palliasse, covered with rugs and -left to her mumbling, her monotonous, wearying babble. Next morning our -nurse, going her rounds, found that the unfortunate creature was not -_détraquée_ but delirious, that her temperature was high and both lungs -congested. It was just a question whether she would survive the journey -to Fains, where, in the Departmental Lunatic Asylum, some wards had -been set aside for the overflow from the hospital. - -One of our coterie, burning with what we admitted was justifiable -wrath, gave a hard-hearted official from the Prefecture a Briton's -opinion of the matter. - -"It was inhuman to treat these women so. Some of them were wandering -in the streets for hours. Why didn't you send them direct to Fains?" - -"There was no conveyance, the hospital was full ..." so he excused -himself. - -"But they cannot stay here," she thundered. "It is utterly unfit. They -need nursing, comfort, special care." - -"Oh, well, there is always the Ornain," he replied, with a gesture -towards the river, and the Briton, unable to determine whether a snub, -a sarcasm, or an inhumanity was intended, for the only time in our -knowledge of her was obliged to leave the field to France. - -But she was restored to her wonted good-humour later on by an old lady -who undressed placidly in the new dormitory, peeling off one garment -after another because she "had not taken her clothes off for three days -and three nights," who then knelt placidly by her bedside and said her -prayers, asking, as she tucked the blankets round her, at what time she -would be called in the morning. - -CALLED! In that Bedlam! - -Most of them were "called" by the big steam whistle at the factory long -before the cocks began to crow. Zeppelins, tired of inactivity, began -to prowl at night. One, as everybody knows, was brought down in flames -near Révigny--a shred of its envelope lies in my writing-case, my only -_souvenir de la guerre_, unless a leaflet dropped by a Taube counts -as such--causing great excitement among the boys in the hospital at -Sermaize. No sooner did they hear the guns and the throb of its engines -than with one accord they scrambled from their beds and rushed to the -verandah, where a wise matron rolled them in blankets and allowed -them to remain to "see the fun," a breach of discipline for which -she was amply rewarded when, seeing the flames shoot up through the -skies, the boys rose to their feet and shrilled the "Marseillaise" to -the night in their clear, sweet trebles. A dramatic moment that! The -long, low wooden hospital a blur against the moonlit field, behind and -all around the woods, silent, dark, clustering closely, purple in the -half-light of the moon, the boys' white faces, their shrill cheer, and -through the sky the wide fire of Death falling, to lie a mammoth dragon -on the whitened fields. It is said that there was a woman in that -Zeppelin--some fragments of clothing, a slipper were found.... - -Another, more fortunate, dropped bombs at Révigny and Contrisson, -where by bad luck an ammunition wagon was hit. One at least of the -wagons caught fire, but was quickly uncoupled by heroic souls who -were subsequently decorated. The first explosion shook our windows -in Bar-le-Duc, and then for two or more hours we heard report after -report as shell after shell exploded. In the morning wild tales were -abroad. The main line to Paris had been cut, Trèmont (miles in the -other direction) had been bombed, numbers of civilians had been killed -and injured; Révigny was in even smaller shreds than before; in short, -Rumour, that busy jade, was having a well-occupied morning. But that -is not unusual in the War Zone. She is rarely idle there. The number -of times we were told a bombardment by long-range guns was signalled -for Bar is incalculable. The town passed from one _crise de nerfs_ to -another, some one was always in a panic over a coming event which did -not honour us even by casting its shadow before. - -The Zeppelins, to be quite frank, were a nuisance. They never -reached the town, which has reason to be grateful for the narrowness -of its valley and the protecting height of its hills, but they made -praiseworthy attempts at all sorts of odd hours, and generally the -most inconvenient that could well be chosen. The doings at Révigny and -Contrisson warned us that a visit might be fraught with disagreeable -results, for Bar is a concentrated place, it does not straggle, and -when raids occur practically every street is peppered. - -So though we did not go to the cellars, we felt it incumbent upon us -to be ready to do so should necessity arise, which probably explains -why the syren invariably blew when one or two shivering wretches were -sitting tailor-wise in rubber or canvas basins, fondly persuading -themselves that they were having a bath. - -When there are twenty degrees of frost, when water freezes where it -falls on your uncarpeted bedroom floor, bathing in a canvas basin has -its drawbacks; but if, just as your precious canful of hot water has -been splashed in and you "mit nodings on" prepare to get as close -to godliness as it is possible for erring mortal to do, the syren's -long, lugubrious note throbs on the air, well, you float away from -godliness fairly rapidly on the wings of language that would have -shocked the most condemnatory Psalmist of them all. I really believe -those Zeppelins KNEW when our bath-water boiled. We went to bed at -ten-thirty or we waited till midnight. "Let's get the beastly thing -over, it is such a bore dressing again." We dodged in at odd hours of -the evening, it was just the same. Venus was always surprised. In the -end, and when in spite of nightly and daily warnings, nothing happened, -our faith in French airmen became as the rock that moveth not and -is never dismayed. Though syrens hooted and bugles blew, though the -town guard turning out marched under our windows, the unclothed soaped -and lathered and splashed with unemotional vigour, while the clothed -chastely wondered what would happen if a bomb struck the house and -Venus.... Oh, well, the French rise magnificently to any situation. - -Once I confess to rage. We had a visitor. We had all worked hard all -day at the market, we had come home after ten, and, wearied out, had -tucked ourselves into bed, aching in every limb. The visitor and the -smallest member of the coterie returned even later. Slumber had just -sealed my eyelids when a voice said in my ear, "Miss Day, I'm so sorry, -there's a Zeppelin." Just as though it were sitting on the roof, you -know, preparing to lay an egg. - -"Call me when the bombs begin to fall." Slumber seized me once more. -Again the voice. "I think you must get up; Visitor says it is not safe." - -"Oh, go to--the Common-room." - -It was no use. I was dragged out. There are moments when one could -cheerfully boil one's fellow-creatures in a sausage-pot. - -At the market when danger threatened every one was ruthlessly hunted to -the cellar. And French cellars are the coldest things on earth. Even -on the hottest day in summer they are cool, in the winter they would -freeze a polar bear. Indeed, we were sometimes tempted to declare that -the cellars did more harm than Zeppelin or Taube. - -Air-raids affect different people differently. One woman said -they--well, she said, "Ça fait sauter (to jump) l'estomac," which -must have been sufficiently disagreeable; another declared, "Ça -fait trop de bile." Nearly all developed nerve troubles, and Madame -Phillipot--who succeeded Madame Drouet as our _femme de ménage_, -refused to undress at night. In vain we reasoned with her. She slept -armed _cap-à-pie_, ready for immediate flight, and not until a slight -indisposition gave us a weapon, which we used with unscrupulous skill -and energy, did we wring from her a promise to go to bed like a -respectable Christian. Madame Albert died trembling in the darkness -one night: an old woman, affected by bronchial trouble, flying from -Death, found him in the icy cellar; many a case of bronchitis and lung -trouble was reported as an outcome of these nightly raids, children -especially began to suffer, their nerves breaking down, their little -faces becoming pinched, dark shadows lying under their eyes. - -In the War Zone people don't write letters to the Press discussing the -advisability of taking refuge in a raid, nor do they talk of "women -and children cowering in cellars." No one suggests that the well-to-do -"should set an example or show the German they are not afraid." France -is too logical for nonsense of that kind. It knows that soldiers do -not sit on the parapet of a trench when strafing is going on--it would -call them harsh names if they did, and so would we. It believes in -reasonable precautions. After all, the German object is to kill as many -civilians as possible--why gratify him by running up the casualty rate? -Why occupy ambulances that might be put to better use? Why occupy the -time of doctors and nurses who are more urgently wanted in the military -wards? Why put your relatives to the expense of a funeral? Why indeed? -Why court suicide for the sake of a stupid sentiment? Logic echoes -why? Logic goes calmly to its cellar or to that of its neighbour, if -it happens to be out and away from its own when trouble begins. Logic -comes up again and goes serenely about its business when trouble is -over. - -Only the nerve-wrecks, people who have sustained long bombardment by -shell-fire for the most part, really lose presence of mind. And for -them there is every excuse. Let no one who has not suffered as they -have presume to judge them. - -Once--it was downright wicked, I admit--two of us, both, be it -confessed, wild Irishwomen, with all the native and national love of -a row boiling in our veins, hearing the syren one evening, somewhere -about nine o'clock, put on our hats and coats, and kilting our skirts, -set off up the hill. We left consternation behind us, but then we did -so want to see a Zeppelin! - -The valley was bathed in soft fitful light. The moon was almost full, -but misty clouds flitted across the sky, fugitives flying before a -wooing wind. Below us the town lay in darkness. Not a lamp showing. -About us rose the old town, the rue Chavé looming cliff-like high above -our heads. We pressed on, pierced the shadows of that narrow street and -gained the rue des Grangettes, there to be met with a sight so weird, -so suggestive of tragedy I wish I could have painted it. From the tall, -grim houses men and women had poured out. Children sat huddled beside -them, others slept in their mother's arms. On the ground lay bags and -bundles. Whispers hissed on the air. It was alive with sibilant sound. -No one talked aloud. They were as people that watch in an ante-room -when Death has touched one who relinquishes life reluctantly in a room -beyond. In the rue Tribel were more groups. In the rue des Ducs de -Bar still more. We thought the population of those old ghost-haunted -houses must all have come forth from a shelter in which they no longer -trusted. A Zeppelin bomb, it is said, will crash through six storeys -and break the roof of the cellar beneath. Here in the street there -was no safety. But in the woods beyond the town, in the woods high on -the hill.... Many and many a poor family spent long night hours in -the cold, the wet and the storm, their little all gathered in bundles -beside them during those intense months of early spring. We felt--or at -least I know that I felt--as we walked through this world of whispering -shadow, utterly unreal. I ceased to believe in Zeppelins; earth, -material things slid away, in the cloud-veiled moonlight values became -distorted; I felt like a spectator at a play, but a play where only -shadows act behind a dim, semi-transparent screen. - -Then we came to the Place Tribel, and the world enclosed us again. A -soldier with a telescope swept the heavens, others gazed anxiously -out over the hills towards St Mihiel. The night was very still and -beautiful; strange that out there, somewhere in the void, Death should -be riding, coming perhaps near to our own souls, with his message -written already upon our hearts. In the streets below a bugle call rang -out clear and sweet, the _Alerte_, the danger signal.... We thought of -the hurried wretches making their way to the woods.... Odd that one -should want to see a Zeppelin! - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -AIR RAIDS - - -I - -Where the grey gas-bags failed, Taubes often succeeded. At first they -came "in single spies," but later "in battalions." And after one of -the early and abortive raids which did no damage--a mere bagatelle of -three bombs and one soldier with a cut over his eye--posters of such -exquisite import were plastered over the walls that I must tell you -about them. - -They emanated from the Mayor, kind father to his people, who told -us--we thrilled to hear it--"that in these tragic hours--of war--we had -known how to meet the dangers that menaced us with unfailing calmness -and courage" (I translate literally), and that "our presence of mind -in the face of such sterile manifestations would always direct our -moral force." Very flattering. We preened feathers quite unjustifiably, -since admittedly the occasion had called for no emotion save that of a -limited, feminine, and quite reasonable curiosity. - -Then, still glowing, we read on. Mayoral praise is sweet, but mayoral -instructions hard to follow. The wisest course to pursue when hostile -aviators aviate is, it seems, to take refuge in the nearest house and -not to gaze at the sky--surely that Mayor had never been born of -woman!--or, should there be no house, "to distance oneself rapidly and -laterally." - -We ceased to glow. We remembered we were but dust. Distance oneself -laterally? Good, but suppose one was walking by the Canal? With an -impenetrable hedge on one side, were we to spring to the other? I have -seen the Canal in all its moods. I have never felt the smallest desire -to bathe in it. I have still less desire to drown--suffocate!--in -it. And if one doesn't know in which direction the bomb is going to -fall?... How be lateral and rapid before it arrives? Suppose one jumped -right under it? Suppose one waits till it comes? "Too late. Too late; -ye cannot _distance_ now." - -Some one suggests that we ought to practise being rapid and lateral. -"My dear woman, I don't know what being lateral means." Thus the -unenlightened of the party. - -"Study the habits of that which can be lateral to all points of the -compass at once when you try to catch it," was the frivolous reply. -Well, opportunities were not wanting. We decided to take lessons. And -then promptly forgot all about Taubes. That is one of the unintentional -blessings incidental to their career. When they are not showering bombs -on you, you eliminate them from consciousness. Perhaps, in spite of -all the damage they have done, they are still too new, too unnatural -to be accepted. A raid is just an evil nightmare--for those who suffer -no bodily harm. It brings you as a nightmare does to the very edge of -some desperate enterprise; you feel the cold, awful fear; you are held -in the grip of some deadly unimagined thing that holds you, forces you -down, something you cannot see, something you do not understand, but -that you know is hideous, terrible in its happening. The noise breaks -on your brain, the noise that is only the symptom of the ill.... Then -silence shuts down ... and you awake.... - -Once, at least for us, the awakening was a tragic one. Ascension Day. -A clear, warm summer sky, windless, perfect. Dinner just over in the -town. Shops opening again. Life stirring in the streets. An ideal -moment for those who are quick to take advantage of such. There was -no signal to warn us of what was coming, no time for pedestrians to -distance themselves laterally or otherwise. Death found them as they -walked through the streets, or gossiped in the station yard. The Place -de la Gare became a shambles. Women--why dilate on the horror? Forty -people were killed outright, over a hundred were wounded, and of these -many subsequently died. In our cellar we listened to the storm, then -when it was over we went through the town seeking out our people, -anxious to help. We saw horses, mangled and bleeding, lying on the -quay-side, a tree riven near the Pont Nôtre Dame, blood flowing in -the gutters, telegraph wires lying in grotesque loops and coils on -the roadway or hanging in festoons from the façades of houses. (An -underground wire was laid down after this.) Glass--we walked on a -carpet of glass, and in the houses we saw things that "God nor man ever -should look upon." - -Saw too, then and in subsequent raids, how Death, if he has marked you -for his own, will claim you even though you hide, even though you seek -the "safe" shelter you trust in so implicitly, but which plays the -traitor and opens the gate to the Enemy who knocks. Madame Albert; the -old sick woman. Now the eldest Savard girl, a tall, graceful, handsome -creature, just twenty years of age. With a number of others including -her mother, younger sister, and several soldiers (oh, yes, soldiers -"cower" too, and are not always the last to dive to shelter), she fled -to the nearest cellar when the raid began, but the entrance was not -properly closed, and when a bomb burst in the yard outside, splinters -killed five of the soldiers, and wounded her so cruelly she died that -night. - -Then there was Madame Bertrand, pursued by a malignant spirit of evil. -Twice a refugee, she came to Bar in February, drifting from the market -to the Maison Blanpain, where within six weeks of her arrival two of -her three children had died. (Her husband was a soldier, of course.) -One contracted diphtheria, the other was struck down by some virulent -and never-diagnosed complaint which lasted just twenty-four hours. -Expecting shortly to become a mother again, Madame was standing at her -house door that sunny June day when a bomb fell in the street. She was -killed instantly. - -A fortnight later the little boy who brought parcels from the -_épicerie_ died. He, like Mademoiselle Savard, was in a cellar, but -a fragment of shell came through the tiny _soupirail_ (ventilation -grating).... - - -II - -In June, the town looked as if it were preparing for a siege. The stage -direction, "Excursions and alarums," was interpolated extravagantly -over all the drama of our life. If we had been rabbits we might have -enjoyed it, there being something slightly facetious, not to say -hilarious, in the flirt of the white bob as it scurries to cover, but -as actors in the said drama we soon ceased to find it amusing. It -interfered so confoundedly with our work! Worst of all, it unsettled -our people. - -The sang-froid of some of the shopkeepers, however, was magnificent. -They simply put their shutters up, pinned a label on the door and went -south or west, to wait till the _rafale_ blew over. Before going, -Monsieur was always at pains to inform us that he, for his part, was -indifferent, but Madame, alas, Madame! Nerves.... An eloquent shrug -that in no way dimmed the brilliance of Madame's smile as she gazed -at us from behind his unconscious back. We, for our part, blushed for -our sex. Then he asked us if we, too, had not fear? Saying no, we felt -unaccountably bombastic. We read braggart in his eye, we scarcely dared -to hope he would not read _froussard_ in ours. Politely he hoped that -when he returned our valuable custom would again be his? Reassured, he -stretched a more or less grimy hand over the counter, we laid ours upon -it, suspicions vanished! With the word _devouée_ gleaming like a halo -round our unworthy heads, we stepped again into the street, there to -admire a vista of shutters. - -(It may be of interest to psychologists that shopkeepers without wives, -and shopkeepers without husbands, generally elected to remain in the -town. They kept, however, their shutters down. Monsieur X., running out -to close his during a raid, was blown to atoms. One learns wisdom--by -experience--in the War Zone.) - -Stepped out to admire, too, a fantastic collection of boxes and bags -ranged close against the walls at irregular intervals. Since the -affair of the _soupirail_ gratings were no longer left unguarded. Tiny -though they were, almost unnoticeable specks just where the house wall -touched the pavement, they could be dangerous. Consequently, bags of -sand, boxes of sand, and big rockery stones were propped against them -to be a snare to the unwary at night, and, as the hot summer sped -by, to testify (as our shy member cogently remarked) to the visiting -proclivities of the dogs of the town. The bags burst, they added to -that composite Ess Bouquet that rose so penetratingly in warm weather, -but the sand and the stones remained. In the winter, snow buried them. -Then the snow froze. Coming round the corner of the Rue Lapique one -dark Laplandish night, I trod on the edge of a heap of frozen snow.... -There are six hundred and seventy-three ways of falling on frozen snow, -and I practised most of them that winter, but, as an accomplishment, -am bound to admit that they seem to be devoid of any artistic merit -whatever. - -Following the sandbags came _affiches_. Every cellared house--and -nearly every house had its cellar--blazed the information abroad. -"Cave voutée" (vaulted cellar), 20 _personnes_, 50 _personnes_, 200 -_personnes_, even 500 _personnes_, indicated shelter in an emergency. -In a raid every man's cellar is his neighbour's. Once we harboured some -refugees, and that night at dinner the shy member (perhaps I ought to -say that the adjective was entirely self-bestowed), gurgled suddenly. -We looked at her expectantly. - -"I was only thinking that Miss ---- (No. I shall not betray her!) is -not supposed to smoke when the refugees are about, but in the middle of -the raid she came swanking down to the cellar to-day with a cigarette -in her mouth." - -As one not unremotely connected with the incident I take leave to -disqualify "swank." Professional smokers never swank, it is the -attribute of the mere amateur. - -So many precautions were taken, it would seem that any one who got -hurt during a raid had only himself to blame, and for those who may -think warnings superfluous, I may add that never again was the casualty -list as high as on that unwarned Ascension Day. Indeed, in subsequent -raids--while I was in Bar, at least--it decreased in the most arresting -manner. True, the day and night were rendered hideous with noise. To -the _sirène_ was added the steam-whistle at the gas-works, but these -being deemed insufficient, a loud tocsin clanged from the old Horloge -on the hill. I have known people to sleep through them all, but their -names will never be divulged by so discreet a historian. - -Though the danger was lessened, the nerve-strain unfortunately -remained. Mothers with children found life intolerable. It was bad -enough to spend one's days like a Jack-in-the-box jumping in and out -of the cellar, but infinitely worse to spend the night doing it. -Flight was--I was going to say in the air! It was at least on many -lips. People were poised, as it were, hesitant, unwilling to haul up -anchor, afraid to face out upon the unknown sea, yet still more afraid -to remain. Then, as I have told you, eight warnings and two raids in -twenty-four hours robbed over-taxed nerves of their last ounce of -endurance. The Prefecture was besieged, and in one day alone three -hundred people left the town. Those who had friends or relatives in -other districts were, as is usual in all such cases, allowed to join -them, others were herded like sheep, and like sheep were driven where -shepherd and sheep-dog willed. Nearly all the Basket-makers fled. The -Maison Blanpain turned its unsavoury contents out of doors. Many of our -fastest and firmest friends came to say good-bye with tears in their -eyes; it was a heartrending time, and one which, if continued, would -have seen an end to all our labour. This fear was happily not realised, -for as fast as one lot of refugees went away another lot drifted in, -and the following winter was the busiest we were to know. - -To all who came to say good-bye, clothes were given, and especially -boots, America having come again to our rescue with some consignments -which, if they added to our grey hairs--I would "rather be a dog and -bay the moon" than assistant in a boot-shop--added in far larger -measure to the contentment and happiness of the fugitives. - -Boots were, and no doubt still are, almost unobtainable luxuries, for -those who try to make both ends of an _allocation_ meet. As a garment, -it may be said that the allocation (I change my metaphor, you notice) -just falls below the waist-line, it never reaches down to the feet. -How could it when even a child's pair of shoes cost as much as twelve -francs? and are _du papier_ at that. - -Our boot-shop was a dark, damp, refrigerating closet at the end of the -hall where boots of all sizes were of necessity piled, or slung over -lines that stretched across the room. What you needed was never on a -line. But the line's adornments beat you about the head as you stooped -to burrow in the heaps underneath. - -To add to your enjoyment of the situation, you were aware that the -difference between French feet and American feet is as wide as the -Atlantic that rolls between. - -Nevertheless, those that came were shod. I personally can take no -credit for it. My plunges into the refrigerator only served as a rule -to send the temperature up! The miracles of compression and expansion -were performed by the Directrice of the establishment, who will, I -hope, forgive me if I say that I deplore an excellent sportswoman lost -in her. She had the divine instinct of the chase, and when she ran her -quarry to earth her eyes bubbled. At other times, she tried to hide the -softest heart that ever betrayed a woman under a grim exterior, that -only deceived those who saw no further than her protecting pince-nez. - - -III - -Yes, they were going. Old friends of over a year's standing, many of -whom we had visited again and again, and of whom we shall carry glad -memories till the final exodus of all carries us beyond the Eternal -Shadows. Madame Drouet, our _femme de ménage_, was wavering; pressure, -steadily applied, was slowly driving her to the thing she dreaded and -disliked. Then, as you know, the blow fell. - -She was gone, and we gazed at one another in consternation. Where would -we find such another? Hastily we ran over a list of names, and then, -Eureka! we had it. Madame Phillipot, of course. On with our hats, and -hot foot at top speed to the rue de Véel. An agitated half-hour--Madame -was diffident, she was no cook, she could never please Les Anglaises--a -triumphant return, all her scruples overruled, and the inauguration -of a reign of peace and plenty such as we shall not see again. There -is only one Madame Phillipot in this grey old world. Only one, and -we loved her. Loved her? Why, we could not help it! Picture a little -robin-redbreast of a woman, short and plump, with pretty dark eyes and -clear skin, and the chirpiest voice that ever made music on a summer -day. I can hear her now lilting her "Bon Soir, Mesdemoiselles," as she -came to bid us good-night. The little ceremony was never forgotten, -nor was the morning greeting. She rarely talked, she chirped, and -she chirped the long day through. The coming of every new face was -an adventure. No longer did the uninterested "C'est une dame," hurl -us from our peace. No. In five minutes, in five seconds Madame, -interviewing the new-comer, had grasped all the salient points of her -history, and we went forth armed, ready to smite or succour as occasion -demanded. And dearly she loved her bit of gossip. What greetings the -old stone staircase witnessed! What ah's and oh's of delight! We would -hear the voluble tide rising, rising, and groan over rooms undusted, -and beds blushing naked at midday. But it was impossible to be angry -with Madame. The work was done sooner or later, generally later, -and when we sat down to her _ragoût_, or her _bœuf mode_, or her -_blanquette de veau_ in the evening her sins put on the wings of virtue -and fluttered, silver plumed, to heaven. - -Now, I am a mild woman, but there are hours in which I yearn to murder -M. Phillipot, and Pappa, and Mademoiselle Clémence, for they hold -Madame to the soil of France. If she was a widowed orphan, perhaps we -might console our lonely old age together, but no one could be really -lonely when Madame was by. Is one lonely in woods when birds are -singing? - -It was the ambition of her life to be a milliner, but Pappa--you shall -hear about him presently--said No. So she married M. Phillipot instead, -and became the wife of a _commis-voyageur_ who did not deserve to get -her. For he had as mother an old harridan who insisted on living with -him, and who, bitterly jealous of Madame, made her life a burden to -her. The _commis-voyageur_ having a soul like his bag of samples, all -bits and scraps, always sided with his mother. - -Once Madame asked me to guess her age. I hazarded thirty-eight quite -honestly, and she flushed like a girl. "Ah, mais non. She was older -than that. She was...." (I shan't "give her away." Am not I, too, a -woman?) - -"You don't look it, Madame," I answered truthfully. - -"Ah, but if only Mademoiselle had seen me before the war. When I was -dressed in my pretty Sunday clothes. Ah, que j'étais belle! And fresh -and young. One would have given me thirty." - -Her speech was the most picturesque thing, a source of unfailing -delight. Once in that awful frost, when for six weeks there was ice -on the bedroom floor and a phylactery of ice adorned my sponge-bag, -when the moisture that exuded from the walls became _crystallisé_, -and neither blankets, nor fur coat, nor hot water bottle kept one -warm at night, Madame, seeing me huddle a miserable half-dead thing -over the stove, cried, "It is under a _cloche_ we should put you, -Mademoiselle Day." And the three villains who shared my misery with -ten times my fortitude chuckled with delight. My five-foot seven and -ample proportions being "forced" like a salad under the bell-glass of -intensive culture! No wonder we laughed. But I longed for the _cloche_ -all the same. - -As for her good humour it was indestructible. When people came, as -people inconsiderately will come, from other work-centres demanding -food at impossible hours, Madame sympathised with the agonies of the -housekeeper and evolved meals out of nothingness, out of a leek and a -lump of butter, or out of three sticks of macaroni, one _gousse d'ail_ -and a pinch of salt. The clove of garlic went into every pot--was it -that which made her dishes so savoury? When the gas was shut off at -five o'clock just as dinner was under way, she didn't tear her hair and -blaspheme her gods; she cooked. Don't ask me how she did it. I can only -state the fact. On two gas-rings, with a tiny hot-plate in between, she -cooked a soup, a meat dish, two vegetables and a pudding every night, -and served them all piping hot whether the gas "marched" or whether it -did not. - -If we wanted to send her into the seventh heaven we gave her a -"commission" in the town, or asked her to trim a hat. We would meet -her trotting up the Boulevard, her basket on her arm, her smile -irradiating the greyest day, and know that when she returned every -rumour--and Bar seethed with rumours--every scrap of gossip--it was a -hotbed of gossip--on the wing that day would be ours for the asking. -She never held herself aloof as Madame Drouet did. She became one of -the household, and it would have done your heart good to see her on -Sunday morning trotting (she always trotted) first from one room and -then to another with trays of coffee and rolls, keeping us like naughty -children in bed, ostensibly because we must be tired, we worked so hard -(O Madame! Madame!), but actually we believed to keep us out of the way -while she scuttled through her work in time for Mass. - -Her dusting was even sketchier than Madame Drouet's, and when she -washed out a room she always left one corner dry, but whether in -pursuance of a sacred rite or as a concession to temperament, I cannot -say. - -Meantime she lived in one room in the rue de Véel, sharing it with her -father and Mademoiselle Clémence. M. Phillipot, his existence once -acknowledged, faded more and more surely from our ken. He was not in -Bar-le-Duc, he was in a misty, nebulous somewhere with his virago of a -mother. We felt that wherever he was he deserved it, and speedily put -him out of our existence. But he occurred later. Husbands do, it seems, -in France. - -Frankly, I believe that Madame forgot him too. She never spoke of him, -and she was devoted to M. Godard and Clémence, who are of the stock -and breeding that keep one's faith in humanity alive. Monsieur was a -carpenter, an old retainer of the château near his home. A well-to-do -man, we gathered, of some education and magnificent spirit. When -the Germans captured his village they seized him, buffeted him and -threatened to shoot him. Well, he just defied them. Flung back his old -head and dared them to do their worst. Even when he was kneeling in -the village square waiting the order to fire he defied them. He told -me the story more than once, but the details escaped me. Heaven having -deprived him of teeth, he had a quaint trick of substituting nails, -with his mouth full of which he waxed eloquent. Now, toothless French -causes the foreigner to pour ashes on her head and squirm in the very -dust, but French garnished with "des points" ...! - -Of course I ought to have mastered it, as opportunities were not -lacking, but Monsieur, who worked regularly for us, was unhappily -slightly deaf. So what with the difficulty of making him understand me, -and the difficulty of making me understand him, our intimacy, though at -all times of the most affectionate nature, rested rather on goodwill -than on soul to soul intercourse. - -A scheme for providing the refugees with chests in which to keep their -scanty belongings having been set afoot, Monsieur was established in -the wood-shed with planes, hammer and nails, and there he became a -fixture. We simply could not get on without him. We flew to him in -every crisis, flying back occasionally in laughter and indignation, -with the storm of his disapproval still whistling in our ears. He -could be as obstinate as a mule, and oh, how he could chasten us for -our good! In the intervals he made chests out of packing-cases, which -he adorned with hinges and a loop for a padlock, while we painted the -owner's initials in heavy lettering on the top. So highly were they -prized and sought after, our stock of packing-cases ran out, and those -who wanted them had to bring their own. It was then that Monsieur's -gift of invective showed itself in all its razor-like keenness. For, -grievous to relate, there are people in the world who presume upon -generosity--mean people who will not play the game. Every packing-case -in process of transformation made serious inroads on Monsieur's time, -and upon the small supply of wood at his disposal, so their cost was -not small. But if you had seen some of the boxes brought to our door! - -"That?" Monsieur wagged a contemptuous finger at the overgrown -match-box one despicable creature planted under his enraged eyes. -"That? A chest to hold linen? Take it away. It will do to carry your -prayer book in when you go to Mass." - -Or, "It is a chest that you want me to make out of that? That? Look at -it. C'est du papier à cigarette. Your husband can roll his tobacco in -it." - -We chuckled as we blessed him. No doubt we were often imposed upon, and -Monsieur had an eye like a needle for the impostor. - -In process of manufacture, marks of ownership sometimes became erased, -and then there was woe in Israel. - -"That my caisse? Mais je vous assure Mademoiselle the caisse that I -brought was large, grande comme ça"--a gesture suggested a mausoleum. -"Yes, and I wrote my name on it with the pencil of Monsieur, there, -dans le couloir. He saw me write it, Vannier-Lefeuvre. Monsieur will -testify." - -We gazed at Monsieur. "Vannier-Lefeuvre? Bon. Regardez la liste. C'est -le numero twenty-two." - -"But there is NO number twenty-two, Monsieur." - -"Eh bien, il faut chercher." - -This to a demented philanthropist who had already wasted a good hour -in the search. (The hall was piled ceiling high with the wretched -cases, you know.) Madame Vannier-Lefeuvre lifted up a strident voice -and sang in minor key a dirge in memory of the lost treasure. Its size, -its beauty, its strength, the twenty-five sous she had paid for it at -the _épicerie_.... No, it was not that, nor that. We dragged out the -best, even some special treasures bigger and better than anything she -could have produced. All in vain. "Monsieur." We appealed to Cæsar. - -Boom, bang, boom. With his mouth full of nails, humming a stifled song, -Cæsar drove a huge nail into the case of Madame Poiret-Blanc. Five -minutes later Madame Lefeuvre-Vannier--"or Vannier-Lefeuvre ça ne fait -rien," marched off with our finest _caisse_ on her _brouette_, woe -on her wily old face and devilish glee in her heart. And we, turning -to pulverise Monsieur, whose business it was to mark every case in -order to prevent confusion, found ourselves dumb. We might rage in the -Common-room, but in the wood-shed we were as lambs that baa'ed. - -And we forgave him all his sins the day he, with a look of ineffable -dignity just sufficiently tinged with contempt, brushed aside a huge -gendarme at the station. Some one was going away, and Monsieur had -wheeled her luggage over on the _brouette_. - -"It is forbidden to go on the platform." Thus the arm of military law, -an _Avis_ threatening pains and penalties hanging over his head. - -"Forbidden? Do you not know that I am the valet de ces dames?" - -Have you ever seen a gendarme crumple? - - -IV - -Twenty degrees, twenty-two degrees, twenty-five degrees of frost. A -clear blue sky, brilliant sunshine, a snow-bound world. - -"Pas chaud," people would declare as they came shivering into our room. -Not hot! Are the French never positive? I think only when it rains, and -then they do commit themselves to a "quel vilain temps." - -The ice on the windows, even at the sunny side of the house, refused -to thaw; the water pipes froze. Not a drop of water in the house, -everything solid. Madame put a little coke stove under the tap, and -King Frost laughed aloud. The tap thawed languidly, then froze again, -and remained frozen. A week, two, three weeks went by. Happily there -was water in the cellar. - -It was _ennuyant_, certainly, to be obliged to fetch all the water in -pails across the small garden, through the hall and up the stairs, but -Madame endured it, as she endured the chilblains that tortured her -feet, and the nipping cold of her kitchen. Even the frost could not -harden her bubbling good humour. - -King Frost gripped the world in firmer fingers, the sun grew more -brilliant, the sky more blue. The Canal froze, the lock gates were -ice palaces, the streets and roads invitations to death or permanent -disablement. Still Madame endured. A morning came when the cold -stripped the flesh from our bones, and we shook as with an ague. The -Common-room door opened, desolation was upon us. Madame staggered -in, fell upon a chair and, lifting up her voice, wept aloud. She was -_désolée_. For two hours she had laboured in the cellar, she had -lighted the _réchaud_ (the little stove), she had poured boiling water -over the tap, she had prayed, she had invoked the Saints and Pappa, -but the water would not come. _Pas une goutte!_ And every pipe in the -Quartier was frozen, there was no water left in all the ice-bound world. - -Madame in tears! Madame in a _crise de nerfs_! She who had coped with -disasters that left us gibbering imbeciles, and had laughed her way -through vicissitudes that reduced me, at least, to the intelligent -level of a nerveless jelly-fish! We nearly had a _crise de nerfs_ -ourselves, but happily some hot tea was forthcoming, hot tea which -in France is not a beverage, but an _infusion_--like _tilleul_, you -know--and with that we pulled ourselves together. We also resuscitated -Madame, whose long vigil in the cellar had frozen her as nearly -solid as the pipes. Later on, she complained of feeling ill, _un -peu souffrante_. Asked to describe her symptoms, she said she had -"l'estomac embarrassé." Before so mysterious a disease we wilted. But -the loan of a huge _marmite_ from the Canteen restored her; there was -water in the deep well in the Park, Pappa would take the _marmite_ on -the _brouette_ and bring back supplies for the house. He brought them. -As the _marmite_ made its heavy way up the stairs, some one asked where -the queer smell came from. - -"That? It is from the water," he replied simply. - -Sanitary authorities, take note. We survived it. And we kept ourselves -as clean as we could. When we couldn't we consoled ourselves by -remembering that the washed are less warm than the unwashed. M. l'Abbé -told me that he dropped baths out of his scheme of things while the -frost lasted. Were we not afraid to bathe? We confessed to a reasonable -fear of being found one morning sitting in my square of green canvas, -a pillar like Lot's wife, but of ice, not salt. He brooded on the -picture I called up, I slid like a bag of coal down the hill. - -Having administered comfort to "l'estomac embarrassé," we rationed our -supply of water, we prayed for a thaw, Madame began to chirp again, -the world was not altogether given over to the devil. But peace had -forsaken our borders. Going into the kitchen one morning I found Madame -in tears. M. Phillipot had occurred. The deluge was upon us. - -Wearying of life in the South, he had come back to Révigny, his mother, -of course, as always, upon his arm, and there, possessed of a thousand -devils, he had bought a wooden house, and there his mother, with all -the maddening malice of a perverse, inconsiderate animal, had been -seized with an illness and was preparing to die. - -And she had sent for Madame. No wonder the heavens fell. - -"All my life she has ill-treated me," the poor little woman sobbed, -"and now when I am si heureuse avec vous, when I earn good money, she -sends for me. Quel malheur! What cruelty! You do not know what a rude -enfer (hell) I have suffered with that woman. And chez nous, one was so -happy. With Pappa and Clémence all was so peaceful, never a cross word, -never a temper. Ah, what sufferings! Did not the contemplation of them -turn Clémence from marriage for ever? Because of my so grande misère -never would she marry. La belle-mère, she hated me. It was that she was -jealous. But now when she is ill she sends for me. But I will not go. -No, I will not." - -"But, Madame, if she is ill? We could manage for a few days." She was -riven with emotion, then the storm passed. Again we reasoned with her. -She must go. After all, if the old woman was dying.... - -Madame did not believe in the possible dissolution of anything so -entirely undesirable as her _belle-mère_, but in the end humanity -prevailed. She would go, but for one night. She would come back early -on the morrow. - -"Ah, Mademoiselle, c'est un vrai voyage de sacrifice that I make." She -put on her Sunday clothes, she took Clémence with her, she came back -that night. Two days later a letter, then a telegram urged her forth -again. We had almost to turn her out of the house. Was not one voyage -of sacrifice enough in a lifetime of sorrow? And the _belle-mère_ would -not die. She, Madame, knew it. Protesting, weeping, she set out, to -come back annoyed, sobered, enraged, _bouleversée_. _La belle-mère_ had -died. What else could one expect from such an ingrate? - -And now there was M. Phillipot all alone in the _maudite petite maison_ -at Révigny. "Is it that he can live alone? Pensez donc, Mademoiselle! -I, moi qui vous parle, must give up my good place with my friends whom -I love, to whom I have accustomed myself, and live in that desert of -a Révigny. Is it that I shall earn good money there? Monsieur? Il ne -gagne rien, mais rien du tout. Pas ça." She clicked a nail against a -front tooth and shot an expressive finger into the air. - -"Then he must come to Bar-le-Duc." - -But--ah, if Mademoiselle only knew what she suffered--Monsieur was -possessed of goats--deux chèvres, that he loved. They had followed him -in all his journeyings; when they were tired the soldiers gave them -rides in the _camions_. To the South they had gone with him, back to -Révigny they had come with him. To part with them would be death. You -do not know how he loves them. But could one keep goats in the rue de -Véel? - -One could certainly not. We looked at Madame. Physical force might get -her to Révigny, no other power could. Assuredly we who knew her value -could not persuade her. The _impasse_ seemed insurmountable. Then light -broke over it, showing the way. If Monsieur wanted his wife he must -abandon his goats. It was a choice. Let him make it. _Rien de plus -simple._ - -He chose the goats. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -M. LE POILU - - -I - -If you had ventured into Bar-le-Duc during the stormy days of 1916, -when the waves of the German ocean beat in vain against the gates -of Verdun, you might have thought that the entire French army was -quartered there. Soldiers were everywhere. The station-yard was a -wilderness of soldiers. In faded horizon-blue, muddy, inconceivably -dirty, with that air of _je ne sais quoi de fagoté_ which distinguishes -them, they simply took possession of the town. The _pâtisseries_ -were packed--how they love cakes, _choux-à-la-crême_, _brioches_, -_madeleines_, tarts!--the Magasins Réunis was a tin in which all the -sardines were blue and all had been galvanised into life; fruit-shops -belched forth clouds that met, mingled and strove with clouds that -sought to envelop the vacated space; in the groceries we, who were -women and mere civilians at that, stood as suppliants, "with bated -breath and whispering humbleness," and generally stood in vain. But -for Madame I verily believe we would have starved. Orderlies from -officers' messes away up on the Front drove, rode or trained down -with lists as long as the mileage they covered, lists that embraced -every human need, from flagons of costly scent to tins of herrings or -_pâté-de-foie-gras_, or _Petit Beurre_, _Lulu_ (the most insinuating -_Petit Beurre_ in the world), from pencils and notepaper to soap, from -asparagus and chickens--twelve francs each and as large as a fair-sized -snipe--to dried prunes and hair-oil. We even heard of one _popotte_ -which pooled resources and paid twenty-five francs for a lobster, but -perhaps that tale was merely offered as a tax upon our credulity. - -Bar-le-Duc was delirious. Never had it known such a reaping, never had -it heard of such prices. It rose dizzily to an occasion which would -have been sublime but for the inhumanity of the _Petite Vitesse_ which, -lacking true appreciation of the situation, sat down upon its wheels -and ceased to run. - -Not that the _Petite Vitesse_ was really to blame. It yearned to -indulge in itinerant action, but there was Verdun, with its gargantuan -mouths wide open, all waiting to be fed, and all clamouring for men, -munitions and _ravitaillement_ of every kind. In those days all roads -led to Verdun--all except one, and that the Germans were hysterically -treading. - -However, we wasted no sympathy on the shopkeepers. Their complete -indifference to our needs drove every melting tenderness from our -hearts, or, to be quite accurate, drove it in another direction--that -of the poor _poilu_ who had no list and no fat wallet bulging with -hundred-franc notes. And I think he richly deserved all the sympathy -we could give him. Think of the streets as I have described them -when talking of the Marché Couvert, call to mind every discomfort -that weather can impose, add to them, multiply them exceedingly, and -then extend them beyond the farthest bounds of reason, and you have -Bar in the spring of 1916. Cold, wet, snow, sleet, slush, wind, mud, -rain--interminable rain--did their worst with us, and in them all -and under most soldiers lived in the streets. The _débitants_ and -café-restaurants were closed during a great part of the day, there -was literally nowhere for them to go. They huddled like flocks of -draggled birds in the station-yard, some in groups, some in serried -mass before the barrier, some stamping up and down, some sitting on -the kerb or on the low stone parapet from which the railings spring, -and while some, pillowing their heads on their kits, went exhaustedly -to sleep, others crouched with their backs against the wall. They ate -their bread, opened their tins of _conserve_--generally potted meat or -sardines--sliced their cheese with a pocket-knife, or absorbed needed -comfort from bottles which, for all their original dedication, were -rarely destined to hold water! On the Canal bank they sat or lay in the -snow, on ground holding the seeds of a dozen chilly diseases in its -breast; on the river banks they sprang up like weeds, on the Boulevard -every seat had its quota, and we have known them to have it for the -night. In all the town there was not a canteen or a _foyer_, not a hut -nor a camp, not a place of amusement (except a spasmodic cinema), not a -room set apart for their service. They might have been Ishmaels; they -must have been profoundly uncomfortable. - -Yet no one seemed to realise it. That was the outstanding explosive -feature of the case. Late in the spring, towards the end of April or -in May, buffets were opened in the station-yard under the ægis of the -Croix Rouge. At one of these ham, sardines, bread, post cards, tobacco, -chocolate, cakes, matches, _pâté_, cheese, etc., could be bought; -at the other wine, and possibly beer. The space between was not even -roofed over, and, their small purchases made, the men had to consume -them--when eatable--in the open. But of real solicitude, in the British -sense of the word, for their comfort there was none. - -France has shown herself mighty in many ways during the war, but--with -the utmost diffidence I suggest it--not in her care for the men who -are waging it. Our Tommies, with their Y.M.C.A. huts and Church Army -and Salvation huts, with their hot baths, their sing-songs in every -rest-camp, their clouds of ministering angels, their constellations of -adoring satellites waiting on them hand and foot, are pampered minions -compared with the French soldier. For him there is neither Y.M.C.A., -Church Army nor Salvation Army. He comes, some three thousand of him, -_en repos_ to a tiny village, such as Fains or Saudrupt, Trémont or -Bazincourt, he is crowded into barns, granges, stables and lofts, he is -route-marched by day, he is neglected by evening. No one worries about -him. Amusement, distraction there is none. No club-room where he may -foregather comfortably, no cheery canteen with billiards and games, -no shops in which if he has money he can spend it. Blank, cheerless, -uncared-for nothingness. He gets into mischief--what can you expect? -He goes back to the trenches, and shamed eyes are averted and hearts -weighed with care hide behind bravado as he goes. - -Sometimes you hear, "The men are so weary and so dispirited they do no -harm." They are like dream people, moving through a world of shadows. -Those who go down into hell do not come back easily to the things of -earth. Sometimes you hear tales that make you wince. The pity of it! -And sometimes you meet young girls who, tempted beyond their strength, -are paying the price of a sin whose responsibility should rest on other -shoulders. - -"My friend the Aumonier at F---- does not know what to do with his -men," said the Abbé B. to me one day. "They are utterly discouraged, -he cannot rouse them; they vow they will not go back to the trenches." -And then he talked of agitators who tried to stir up disaffection in -the ranks, Socialist leaders and the like. (France has her Bolos to -meet even in the humblest places.) But I could not help thinking that -the good Aumonier's task would have been a lighter one had plenty of -wholesome recreation been provided for his men in that super-stupid, -dull and uninteresting village of F----.[11] - - [11] It must be remembered that there is no one in such villages or - their immediate neighbourhood capable of initiating such recreation. - The inhabitants are of the small farmer class for the most part, the - mayor a working man, the parish priest old (priests of military age - serve with the colours), and all are often very poor. - -The migratory soldier going to or from leave, or changing from one -part of the Front to another, might, as we have seen, wait hours -at a junction, cold and friendless, without where to lay his head. -And just why it was not particularly easy to discover. We divined a -psychological problem, we never really resolved it. - -Does logic, carried to its ultimate conclusion, leave humanity limping -behind it on the road? - -Or are the French the victims of their own history? Did not the -Revolution sow the seeds of deep distrust between aristocracy and -bourgeoisie and, more than that, sow an even deeper distrust between -bourgeois and bourgeois? During the Reign of Terror the man who dined -with you to-night all too often betrayed you on the morrow, neighbour -feared neighbour, and with terrible justification, the home became a -fortress round which ran a moat of silence and reserve, the family -circle became the family horizon, people learned to live to themselves, -to mind their own business and let the devil or who would mind that of -their neighbours. - -When England was blossoming in a springtime of altruism, when -great-minded men and women were learning that the burden of the poor, -the sick, the suffering was their burden to be shouldered and carried -and passed from hand to hand, France was still maimed and battered by -blows from which she has scarcely yet recovered. - -Even to-day French women tell me of the isolation of their upbringing. -"Our father discouraged intercourse with the families about us." - -But that narrow individualism--or, more properly, tribalism--is, -I think, dying out, and the present war bids fair to give it its -death-stroke. - -Behind the Revolution lay no fine feudal instinct, no traditions save -those of bitter hatred and of resentment on the one hand, of contempt -and oppression on the other. Not, it will be acknowledged, the best -material out of which to reconstitute a broken world. And so what might -be called collective sympathy was a feeble plant, struggling pitifully -in unfavourable soil. The great upper class which has made England so -peculiarly what she is scarcely existed in France. The old aristocracy -passed away, the new sprang from the Napoleonic knapsack; Demos in a -gilt frame, a Demos who had much to forget and infinitely more to -learn. - -Some philanthropic societies, of course, existed before the war, but, -so far as my knowledge of them goes, they were run by the State or by -its delegates, the iron hand of officialdom closed down upon them, they -made little if any claim upon the heart of the people. Perhaps in a -nation of such indomitable independence no more was necessary, but what -was necessary--if I may dare to say so--was large-hearted sympathy and -understanding between class and class--a common meeting-ground, in fact. - -So, at least, I read the problem, and offer you my solution for what it -is worth, uncomfortably aware that wiser heads than mine may laugh me -out of court and sentence me to eternal derision. - -One thing, at least, I do not wish, and that is to bring in a verdict -of general inhumanity and hard-heartedness against the French nation. -A certain imperceptiveness, lack of intuition, of insight, of the -sympathetic imagination--call it what you will--is, perhaps, theirs in -a measure; but, on the other hand, the individual responds quickly, -even emotionally, to an appeal to his softer side. Only he has not -acquired the habit of exposing his soft side to view and asking the -needy to lean upon it! Nor has he acquired the habit of going forth to -look for people ready to lean. He accepts the _status quo_. But prove -to him that it needs altering, and he is with you heart and hand. His -is an attitude of mind, not of heart. When the heart is touched the -mind becomes its staunchest ally. The feeding of the refugees done on -lavish scale, the installation of a hostel for the relatives of men -dying in hospital are instances of what I mean. For months, years, -poor women, wives and mothers coming to take their last farewell of -those who gave their lives for France, had no welcome in Bar. All too -often they were unable to find a bed, they wandered the streets when -the hospitals were closed against them, they slept in the station. -Then a _Médicin-Chef_, with a big heart and reforming mind, suggested -that the refugee dormitories in the market should be converted into a -hostel. No sooner suggested than done. The "Maison des Parents" sprang -into life, a tiny charge was made for _le gîte et la table_, voluntary -helpers served the meals, organised, catered, kept the accounts. -France only needs to be shown the way. One day she will seek it out -for herself. Every day she is finding new roads. And this I am sure -every one who has worked as our Society has done will endorse, no -appeal has ever been made in vain to those who, like our friends in -Bar-le-Duc and elsewhere, gave with unstinting generosity and without -self-advertisement. - - -II - -Think, too, of the hospitals. The call of the wounded was answered -magnificently. Remember that before the war French hospitals were very -much where ours were in the days of Mrs. Gamp, and before Florence -Nightingale carried her lamp through their dark and noisome places. -It is said that the nursing used to be done by nuns for the most -part, a fact of which the Government took no cognisance when it drove -the religious orders from the country, and when they went away it -fell into the hands of riff-raff. Women of no character, imported by -students as worthless as themselves, masqueraded as ministering angels, -and it is safe to assume that they neither ministered nor were angelic. -Gentlewomen, even the _petit bourgeoisie_, drew their skirts aside -from such creatures. The woman of good birth and education who became -a nurse, not only violated her code by earning her living, but cut her -social cables and drifted out upon an almost uncharted sea. Only the -few who were brave enough to attempt it trained (if my authorities are -reliable) in England, and no doubt it was owing in large measure to -them that a movement for re-organising the hospitals was set on foot. -But before the project could mature the church bells, ringing out their -call to arms, rang out a call to French women too, and gathered them -into the nursing profession. - -Perhaps that is why the hale, hearty, often dirty, and by no means -always respectful _poilu_ has been neglected. Woman seeing him wounded -had no eye for him whole. Besides, he is rather a bewildering thing; -his gods are not her gods, his standards not her standards, she -is--dare I whisper it?--just a little afraid of him, as we are apt to -be of the thing we do not understand. All her instinct has bidden her -banish him from her orbit, but insensibly, inevitably he is beginning -to move in it, to worm himself in. Wounded, she has him at her mercy, -and when, repaired, patched and nursed into the semblance of a man -again, he goes back to the trenches surely she can never think of -him in the old way, or look at him from the old angle? As your true -democrat is at heart a complete snob, the poor _poilu_ used to be, and -is probably to a large extent still, looked down upon as an inferior -being. Conscription rubbed the hero from him, but the human being is -beginning to emerge. - -It is possible that in the hospitals another revolution is taking place -which, if unseen and unguessed at, may be scarcely less far-reaching -in its effects than the old. It has at least drawn the women outside -the charmed circle of the home, it is bringing them hourly into contact -with a side of life which, but for the war, might have remained a -closed book whose pages they would always have shrunk from turning. -Such close contact with human agony, endurance and death cannot leave -them unmoved, and though they have not yet thoroughly mastered the -knack of making hospitals HOMES, though many little comforts, graces -and refinements that we think essential are missing, still, when one -remembers the overwhelming ignorance with which they began and the -difficulties they had to contend with, we must concede that they -have done wonders. For, unlike our V.A.D.s, they did not step into -up-to-date, well-appointed wards with lynx-eyed sisters, steeped in -the best traditions, waiting to instruct them. Experience was their -teacher. They were amateurs doing professional work, and without -discredit to them we may sympathise with the soldiers who, transferred -from a hospital under British management to one run by their own -compatriots, wept like children. Which shows that though we may deny -him the quality, the _poilu_ appreciates and is grateful for a good -dose of judicious petting. - - -III - -Yes! The _poilu_ deserves our sympathy. He is, to my mind, one of -the most tragic figures of the war. He is pursued by a fatalism -as relentless as it is hopeless, and whether he is ill or well is -subjected to much unnecessary discomfort. He hates war, he hates the -trenches, he loathes the life of the trenches, he wants nothing so -much in the world as his own hearthstone. He is often despairing, and -convinced of defeat. ("Mademoiselle, never can we drive the Boche -from his trenches, _never_!") and yet he goes on. There lies the hero -in him--he goes on. Not one in a hundred of him has Tommy's cheery -optimism, unfailing good-humour, cheerful grumble and certainty of -victory. And yet he goes on! He sings _L'Internationale_, he vows in -regiments that "on ne marchera plus. C'est fini"--but he goes on. He is -really rather wonderful, for he has borne the brunt of heavy fighting -for more than three years, and behind him is no warm barrage of -organised care, of solicitude for his welfare, or public ministration -to shield him from the devils of depression and despair. His wife, his -sister, his mother may pinch and starve to send him little comforts, -but he is conscious of the pinching, he has not yet got the great -warm heart of a generous nation at his back. Think of his pay, of his -separation allowances (those of the refugees, one franc twenty-five per -day per adult, fifty centimes per day per child), and then picture him -fighting against heavy odds, standing up to and defying the might of -Germany at Verdun. Isn't he wonderful? - -He seems to have no hope of coming through the war alive. In canteen, -in the train, in the kitchens of the refugees you may hear him say, -"At Verdun or on the Somme, what matter? It will come some time, and -best for those to whom it comes quickly." - -"Ceux qui cherchent la mort ne la trouve jamais." The speaker was a -quick, vivid thing, obviously not of the working classes. He had been -_cité_ (mentioned) more than once, and offered his stripes with a view -to a commission several times, but had always refused them. "For me, -I do not mind, but think of the responsibility ... to know that the -lives of others hung upon you, your coolness, quickness, readiness -of decision. _Impossible!_ And it is the sergeants who die. The -mortality among them is higher than in any other rank. They must expose -themselves more, you see.... Oh yes, there are men who are afraid, and -there are men who try to die." It was then he added, "But those who -seek death never find it. The man who hesitates, who peers over the top -of the trench, who looks this way and that, wondering if the moment is -good, he gets killed; but the man who is not afraid, the man who wants -to die, he rushes straight out, he rushes straight up to the Boche ... -he is never hurt." - -And then he and his companion talked of men who longed to die, who -courted death but in vain. Both expressed a quiet, unemotional -conviction that Death would come to them before long. And both wore the -Croix de Guerre. - -Old Madame Leblan--you remember her?--had a nephew whom she loved as -a son. He and her own boys had grown up together, and she would talk -to me of Paul by the hour. He saw all the Verdun fighting, and before -that much that was almost as fierce; he visited her during every leave, -he brought her and her family gifts, napkin-rings, pen-handles, -paper-cutters, finger-rings, all sorts of odds and ends made in -the trenches from shell-cases and the like. He was always cheery, -always sure he would come again. Paul was like a breeze of sunny -wind, he never lost heart, he never lost hope--until they gave him -his commission. He refused it over and over again. Then his Colonel, -taxing him with want of patriotism, forced him to accept it. That -week he wrote to Madame. He told her of his promotion, adding, "In a -fortnight I shall get leave, so I am looking forward to seeing you all, -unless...." - -She showed me the letter. She pointed to that significant "unless...." - -"Never have I known Paul to write like that. Always he said I will -come." Her heart was full of foreboding, and next time I saw her she -took out the letter with shaking hands. Paul was dead. - -"He knew," she said, as she wept bitterly; "he knew when he took his -commission." - -A reconnaissance from which all his men got back safely, Paul last of -all, crawling on hands and knees ... raises himself to take a necessary -observation ... a sniper ... a swift bullet ... a merciful death ... -and an old heart bleeding from a wound that will never heal. - -"If we see Death in front of us we care no more for it than we do -for that." A Zouave held a glass of lemonade high above the canteen -counter. "For that is the honour of the regiment. Death?" he shrugged. -"One will die, _sans doute_. At Verdun, on the Somme, _n'importe_! My -_copain_ here has been wounded twice. And I? I had two brothers, they -are both in your cemetery here. Yes, killed at Verdun, M'amzelle; I -was wounded. Some day I suppose that we, _nous aussi_...." Again he -shrugged. "Will you give me another lemonade?" - -He and his companion wore the _fourragère_, the cord of honour, given -to regiments for exceptional gallantry in the field. They had been -at Vaux. And what marvels of endurance and sheer pluck the Zouaves -exhibited there are matters now of common knowledge. Personally, -I nourish a calm conviction that but for them and their whirlwind -sacrifice Verdun must have fallen. - - -IV - -Fatalists? Yes. But a thousand other things besides. It is useless to -try and offer you the _poilu_ in tabloid form, he refuses to be reduced -to a formula. The pessimist of to-day is the inconsequent child of -to-morrow. You pity him for his misfortunes, and straightway he makes -you yearn to chastise him for his impertinence. His manners--especially -in the street--like the Artless Bahdar's, "are not always nice." He -can be, and all too often is, frankly indecent; indeed there are -hours when you ask yourself wildly whether indecency is not just a -question of opinion, and whether standards must shift when frontiers -are crossed, and a new outlook on life be acquired as diligently and as -open-mindedly as one acquires--or strives to!--a Parisian accent. - -It is, of course, in the canteen that he can be studied most easily. -There you see him in all his moods, and there you need all your wits -about you if you are not to be put out of court a hundred times a day. -Canteens are, as we have seen, accidental luxuries on the French front. -They took root in most inhospitable soil. As happy hunting-grounds for -the pacifists and anti-war agitators they were feared, their value -as restoratives (I speak temperamentally, not gastronomically) being -practically unknown. But once known it was recognised. The canteen at -Bar-le-Duc, for instance, has been the means of opening up at least two -others, though the opinion of one General, forcibly expressed when it -was in process of installation, filled its promoters with darkest gloom. - -"There will not be an unsmashed bowl, cup or plate in a week. The men -will destroy everything." And therein proved himself a false prophet, -for the men destroyed nothing--except our faith in that General's -knowledge of them! - -Once, indeed, we did see them in unbridled mood, and many and deep -were the complications that followed it. It was New Year's Eve, and -as I crossed the station yard I could hear wild revelry ascending to -the night. (Perhaps at this point it would be as well to say that the -canteen was not run by or connected in any way with our Society, and -that I and two members of the _coterie_ worked there as supernumeraries -in the evenings when other work was done. The fourth and by no means -last member was one of the fairy godmothers whose magic wand had waved -it into being.) Going in, I found it as usual in a fog of smoke, and -thronged with men. Now precisely what befell it would take too long to -relate, but I admit you to some esoteric knowledge. The evening, for -me, began with songs sung in chorus, passed swiftly to solos which -blistered the air, and which would have been promptly silenced had not -Authority warned us "to leave the men alone, they are in dangerous -mood to-night." (A warning with which one helper, at least, had no -sympathy.) It may safely be assumed that there was much in those songs -which we did not understand, but, judging by what we did, ignorance was -more than bliss, it was the topmost pinnacle of discretion. - -The soloist hoarse (he should have had a megaphone, so terrific was -the din), his place was taken by a creature so picturesque that all my -hearts went out to him at once. (It is as well to take a few hundred -with you when you go to France, they have such a trick of mislaying -themselves.) He was tall and slender, finely made, splendidly poised, -well-knit, a graceful thing with finished gestures, and he wore a -red fez, wide mustard-coloured trousers and a Zouave coat. He was -singularly handsome with chiselled features and eyes of that deep soft -brown that one associates with the South. Furthermore, he possessed no -mean gift of oratory. - -He stood on the bench that did duty as a platform. Jan Van Steen might -have painted the canteen then, or would he have vulgarised it? In spite -of everything, in some indefinable way it was not vulgar, and yet we -instinctively felt that it ought to have been. What saved it? Ah, that -I cannot tell. Perhaps the dim light, or the faint blueish haze of -tobacco smoke, the stacked arms, trench-helmets hanging on the walls. -Or else that wonderful horizon-blue, a colour that is capable of every -artistic _nuance_, that lures the imagination, that offers a hundred -beauties to the eye, and can resolve itself as exquisitely against -the dark boarding of a canteen as against the first delicate green of -spring, or against autumn woods a riot of colour. - -Now the speech of that graceless creature, swaying lightly above the -crowd, was everything that a canteen or war-time speech ought not -to be. It began with abuse of capitalists--well, they deserved it, -perhaps. It taxed them with all responsibility for the war, it yearned -passionately to see them in the trenches. There, at least, we were in -accord. We know a few.... But when it went on to say that the masses -who fought were fools, that they should "down tools," that the German -is too rich, too powerful, too well-organised, too supreme a militarist -ever to be defeated.... Then British pride arose in arms.... Just what -might have happened I cannot say, for French pride arose too, and as -it rose the orator descended, and holy calm fell for a moment upon the -raging tumult. - -It was indeed a hectic evening, and I, for one, was hoarse for two -days after it. Even "Monsieur désire?" or "Ça fait trente-trois sous, -Monsieur," was an exercise requiring vocal cords of steel or of wire in -such a hubbub, and mine, alas! are of neither. - -But the descent of the orator was not the end. Somehow, no matter how, -it came to certain ears that the canteen that night had been the scene -of an "orgy," the reputation of France was at stake, and so it befell -that one afternoon when the thermometer sympathetically registered -twenty-two degrees of frost, Colonel X. interviewed those of us who had -assisted at the revels, separately one by one, in the little office -behind the canteen. He wanted, it seems, to find out exactly what had -happened. Well, he found out! - -Put to the question, "Colonel X.," quoth I, not knowing the enormity I -was committing, "the men had drunk a little too much." - -"But, Mademoiselle," his dignity was admirable, reproof was in every -line of his exquisitely-fitting uniform, "soldiers of France are never -drunk." - -"Then"--this very sweetly--"can you tell me where they get the wine?" - -And he told me! He ought to have shot me, of course, and no doubt I -should richly have deserved it. But inadvertently I had touched upon -one of his pet grievances. The military authorities can close the -_débitants_ and restaurants, but they cannot close the _épiceries_. - -"Every grocer in France," he cried, "can get a license to sell wine. -He sends a small boy--_un vrai gosse_--to the Bureau, he stamps a -certificate, he pays a few francs, and that is all. A soldier can fill -his bottle at any grocer's in the town. Why," he went on, the original -cause of our interview forgotten and the delinquent turned confidante, -"not long ago I entrained a regiment here sober, Mademoiselle, I assure -you sober, but when they arrived at R---- they were drunk. And the -General was furious. 'What do you mean by sending me drunken soldiers?' -he thundered. They had filled their bottles, they were thirsty in the -train...." - -But officially, you understand, soldiers of France are never drunk. -Actually they seldom are. Coming home after six months in Bar, I saw -more soldiers under the influence of drink in a week (it included a -journey to Ireland in a train full of ultra-cheerful souls) than in all -my time in France. That men who were far from sober came occasionally -to the canteen cannot be denied, there are rapscallions in every army, -but the percentage was small, and with twenty-two degrees of frost -gnawing his vitals there is excuse for the man who solaces himself with -wine. - - -V - -It was characteristic of the French mind that Colonel X. could not -understand why we did not call the station guard and turn the rioters -into the street. To wander about in that bitter wind, to get perhaps -into all sorts of trouble! Better a rowdy canteen a hundred times over. - -We were frank enough--at least I know I was--on that aspect of the -episode, and, all honour to him, he conceded a point though he failed -to understand its necessity. But now, as at so many pulsating moments -of my career, the ill-luck that dogs me seized me in the person of the -Canteen-Chief and removed me from the room. She, poor ignorant dear, -thought I was being indiscreet, whereas I was merely being receptive. -I am sure I owe that Canteen-Chief a grudge, and I HOPE the Colonel -thinks he does, but on that point his discretion has been perfect. - -Only in the very direst extremity would we have called in the station -guard. We knew the deep-seated animosity with which the soldier views -the gendarme. I may be wrong, but my firm impression is that he hates -him even more than, or quite as much, as he hates the Boche. I suppose -because he does not fight. There must be something intensely irritating -to a war-scarred soldier in the sight of a strapping, well-fed, -comfortable policeman. You know the story of the wounded Tommy making -his way back from the lines and being accosted by a red-cap? - -"'Some' fight, eh?" he inquired blandly. - -"Some don't," retorted Tommy, and that sums the situation up more -neatly than a volume of explanation. - -Once, after the Walpurgis Night, a man chose to be noisy and slightly -offensive in the canteen. It was a thing that rarely happened, and -could always be dealt with, but, smarting possibly under a reprimand, -the guard rushed in, seized a quiet, inoffensive, rather elderly man -who was meekly drinking his coffee, and in spite of remonstrances and -protestations in which the canteen-workers joined, dragged him off, -cutting his throat rather badly with a bayonet in the scuffle. A little -incident which in no way inclined us to lean for support, moral or -otherwise, upon the guardians of military law. But we gave them their -coffee or chocolate piping hot just the same. - -And there were weeks when hot drinks were more acceptable than would -have been promise of salvation. - -"Bien chaud" ("Very hot") they would cry, coming in with icicles on -their moustaches and snow thick on their shoulders. Once an officer -asked for coffee. - -"Very hot, please." - -"It is boiling, Monsieur." He gulped it down. - -"It is the first hot food I have tasted for fourteen days." - -"From Vaux?" we asked. - -"Yes, front line trenches. Everything frozen, the wine in the -wine-casks solid. Yes, another bowl, please." - -Once another officer came in accompanied by an older man whom we -thought must be his father. He begged for water. - -"It comes straight from the main tap, it is neither filtered nor -boiled," we told him. - -"_N'importe._" No, he would not have tea nor coffee. Water, cold water. -He had a raging, a devouring thirst. A glass was filled and given him. - -"Suppose Monsieur gets typhoid?" - -"He has it now," the elderly man replied. "His temperature is high, -that is why he has so great thirst." The patient drank another glass. -Then they both went away. We often wondered whether he recovered. - -Once, at least, our hearts went out to another sick man. He leaned -against the counter with pallid face, over which the sweat of physical -weakness was breaking. Questioned, he told us he had just been -discharged from hospital, he was going back to the trenches, to Verdun, -in the morning. He looked as if he ought to have been in his bed. I -wonder if any society exists in France with the object of helping such -men? We never heard of one (which by no means proves that it does not -exist), but oh, how useful it might have been in Bar! One morning, for -instance, a man tottered into the canteen, ordered a cup of coffee, -drank, laid his head down on the table and fell into a stupefied doze. -So long did he remain the canteeners became anxious. Presently he -stirred, and told them that he had come there straight from a hospital, -that he was going home on leave, that his home was far--perhaps two -days' journey--away, and he had not a sou in his pocket. He was by no -means an isolated case. As a packet of food was being made up for him, -a soldier, obviously a stranger to the sick man, ordered _deux œufs -sur-le-plat_." - -"They are not for myself," he said, "but for the pal here." A little -act of good comradeship that was by no means the only one of its kind. - -The moment which always thrilled was that in which a regimental -Rothschild treated his companions to the best of our store. How eagerly -and exhaustively the list of _boissons_ was studied! - -"Un café? C'est combien? Deux sous? ce n'est pas cher ça." Then to a -friend, "Qu'est-ce-que-tu-prends?" - -"Moi? je veux bien un café." - -"No, non, un chocolat. C'est très bon le chocolat." The coffee lover -wavers. - -"Soit. Un chocolat alors." Then some one else cannot make up his mind. -A bearded man pouring _bouillon_ down his throat recommends that. It -is excellent. The merits of soup are discussed. Then back they go to -coffee again, and all the time as seriously as if the issue of the -war depended upon their deliberations. At length, however, a decision -is made--not without much pleading for _gniolle_ (rum) on the part -of Rothschild. "A drop? Just a tiny drop, Mad'm'zelle. Eh, there is -none? _Mais comment ça?_ How can one drink a _jus_ (coffee) without -_gniolle_? Mad'm'zelle is not kind." He would wheedle a bird from the -bushes, but happily for our strength of mind there is no drink stronger -than _jus_ in the canteen, a fact he finds it exceedingly difficult to -believe. We know that when at last he accepts defeat he is convinced -that fat bottles lie hidden under the counter to be brought forth for -one whose powers of persuasion are greater than his. He loads his -bowls on a tray, carries them by some occult means unbroken through the -throng, and has his reward when the never-failing ceremony of clinking -bowls or glasses with _Bonne chance!_ or _Bonne Santé!_ or _À vous_, -prefaces the feast. - -A pretty rite that of the French. Never did two comrades drink together -in the canteen without doing it reverence. Never did I, visiting a -refugee, swallow, for my sins, _vin ordinaire rouge_ in which a lump of -sugar had been dissolved without first clinking glasses with my hosts -and murmuring a "Good health," or "Good luck," and feeling strangely -and newly in sympathy with them as I did so. The little rite invested -commonplace hospitality with grace and spiritual meaning. - - -VI - -However, you must not think that the canteen kept us in a state of -soppy sentiment, or even of perfervid sympathy. Sanity was the mood -that suited it best. Presence of mind the quality that made for -success. A sense of humour the saving grace that made both the former -possible. When a thin, dark individual leans upon the counter for half -an hour or more, silent, ruminative, pondering--it is a quiet night, no -rush--gather your forces together. His eyes follow you wherever you go, -you see revelations hovering on his lips. You become absorbed in ham or -sausage (horse-sausage is incredibly revolting), but your absorption -cannot last. Even sausages fail to charm, and then the dark one sees -his opportunity. He leans towards you ... His faith in himself must -be immense.... Does he really think that a journey to Paris at 2 a.m. -in an omnibus train and a snowstorm can tempt you? If we had consoled -all the lonely _poilus_ who offered us--temporarily--their hands, their -hearts and their five sous a day we should now be confirmed bigamists. - -Or it may be that you are busy and contemplation of sausage -unnecessary. Then he sets up a maddening _Dîtes, dîtes, dîtes, -Mad'm'zelle_, that drives you to distraction. To silence him is -impossible. Indifference leaves him unmoved. He is like a clock in a -nightmare that goes on striking ONE! - -That he has an eye for beauty goes without saying. "Voilà, une jolie -petite brune! Vas-y." So two vagabonds catching sight of a decorative -canteener, and off they go to discuss the price of ham, for only by -such prosaic means can Sentiment leap over the counter. He addresses -you by any and every name that comes into his head. "La mère," "la -patronne" (these before he grasped the fact that the canteen was an -_œuvre_ and not a commercial enterprise), "la petite," "la belle," "la -belle Marguerite," "la Frisée," "la Dame aux Lunettes," "la petite -Rose," and many others I have forgotten. - -Indeed, the French aptitude for nicknames based on physical -attributes was constantly thrust on us. The refugees, finding our -own names uncomfortable upon the tongue, fell back on descriptive -nomenclature. "La Blonde," "la Blanche," for the fair-haired. "La -Grande," "la Belle," "la belle Dame au Lunettes," "la petite bleue," -"la Directrice," "la grande dame maigre." And once when a bill was in -dispute in a shop the proprietress exclaimed, "Is it that you wish to -know who bought the goods? It was la petite qui court toujours et qui -est toujours si pressée" (the little lady who always runs and is always -in such a hurry). As a verbal snapshot it has never been equalled. It -would have carried conviction in any court in the country. - -But most of all the heart of the soldier rejoices when he can call you -his _marraine_ (godmother). That we, mere English, pursued by ardent -souls, should sometimes be compelled to send out S.O.S. messages to our -comrades; that, feeling the mantle of our dignity slipping perilously -from our shoulders, we should cast aside our remote isolation and -engage the worker in the "next department" in animated conversation, -was only to be expected. But our hearts rejoiced and the imps in us -danced ecstatically when Madame D. was discovered one day hiding in the -office. She, splendid ally that she always was, volunteered to sit at -the receipt of custom on certain afternoons each week, and, clad in her -impenetrable panoply, at once suavely polite, gracious but infinitely -aloof, to sell _tickés_ with subdued but inextinguishable enjoyment. -But a lonely _poilu_ strayed by who badly needed a _marraine_, and so -persistent was he in his demands, so irresistible in his pleadings, so -embarrassing in his attentions, Madame, the panoply melting and dignity -snatched by the winds, fled to the office, from whence no persuasions -could lure her till the lonely one had gone his unsatisfied way. - -It is the man from the _pays envahi_ who, most of all, needs a -_marraine_, e. g. a sympathetic, sensible woman who will write to him, -send him little gifts and take an interest in his welfare. Because all -too often he stands friendless and alone. His relatives, his family -having remained in their homes, between him and them lies silence -more awful than death. He is a prey to torturing fears, he endures -much agony of mind, dark forebodings hang about him like a miasma -poisoning all his days. No news! And his loved ones, in the hands of -a merciless foe, may be in the very village the French or the British -are shelling so heavily! From his place in the trenches he may see the -tall chimneys, the church spire in the distance. He has been gazing -yearningly at them for two years, has seen landmarks crumble and -steeples totter as the guns searched out first one, then another.... -A _marraine_ may well save the reason of such men as these. She can -assuredly rob life of much of its bitterness, and inspire it with hope -and courage to endure. - -One of these men who came from Stenay told us of his misery. He had -done well in the army, had been promoted, might have been commissioned, -but his loneliness, the vultures of conjecture that tugged at his -heart, his longing and his grief overwhelmed him one night, and seeking -distraction in unwise ways he fell into dire trouble, and was reduced -to the ranks.... - -And yet, though I write of these poor derelicts, it is the gay and -gallant who holds my imagination. The thing of the "glad eye," and the -swagger, the jest, "Going _en permission_, Mad'm'zelle," the happiest -thing in France! It is he, the irrepressible, who carries gaiety -through the streets as he rolls by in his _camions_; he sings, he plays -discordant instruments, he buys _couronnes_ of bread, he shouts to -the women. "Ah, la belle fille!" "Mad'm'zelle, on aura un rendez-vous -là-bas." Sometimes he is more explicit:--intermittent deafness is an -infirmity of psychological value in the War Zone! And he thoroughly -enjoys the canteen. He likes "ploom-cak," he likes being waited on by -_Les Anglaises_, he likes the small refinements (though now and then -he "borrows" the forks), he appreciates generosity, he is by no means -ungrateful (see him pushing a few coppers across the counter with a -shamefaced "C'est pour l'œuvre"), and at his worst, least controlled, -most objectionable, he can be shamed into silence or an apology by a -few firm or tactful words. - -A bewildering thing! If I wrote of him for ever I should not be able to -explain him. - - - - -ENVOI - - -And so the tale is written, and the story told in strange halting -numbers that can but catch here and there at the great melody of the -human symphony. - -Just for one moment one may lay one's finger on the pulse of a great -nation, feel its heart beat, feel the quivering, throbbing life that -flows through its veins, but more than that who dare hope to gain? Not -in one phase, nor in one era, not in one great crisis nor even in a -myriad does the heart of a people express itself fully. From birth to -death, from its first feeble primitive struggles as it emerges from -the Womb of Time to its last death-throe as it sinks back again into -the Nothingness from which it came, it gathers to itself new forces, -new aspirations, new voices, new gods, new altars, new preachers, -new goals, new Heavens, new Hells, new readings of the Riddle that -only Eternity will solve. It is in perpetual solution, and the -composite atoms that compose it are in a state of unending change and -transmutation; it dies but to live again in other forms, is silent -only to express itself through new and--may we not hope it?--more -finely-tuned instruments. - -Summarising it to-day you may say of your summary, This is Truth. But -to-morrow it is already falsehood, for the Nation, bound upon the Wheel -of Evolution, has passed on, leaving you bewildered by the way. And -since the war has thrown the nations of the world into the crucible, -until they come forth again, and not till then, may we say, with -finality, "This is gold, or that alloy." - -France is being subjected to a severe test; her burden is almost more -than she can bear, but as she shoulders it we see the gold shining, -we believe that the dross is falling away. No defeat in the field--if -such an end were possible--can rob her of her glory, just as no victory -could save Germany from shame. "What shall it profit a Nation if it -gain the whole world, and lose its own soul?" The soul of Germany is -withered and dead. She has sacrificed it on the Altar of Militarism, -and has set up the galvanic battery of a relentless despotism and crude -materialism in its place. - -But the Soul of France lives on, strengthened and purified, the Soul of -a Nation that seeks the Light and surely one day shall find it. - - - THE END - - - PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY RICHARD CLAY & SONS, LIMITED, BRUNSWICK - ST., STAMFORD ST., S.E. 1, AND BUNGAY, SUFFOLK. - - - - - Skeffington's Early Spring Novels. - - - ONE OF THE MOST IMPORTANT NOVELS OF THE SPRING. - - =Captain Dieppe=: By ANTHONY HOPE, Author of "The Prisoner of Zenda," - "Rupert of Hentzau," etc., etc. Crown 8vo, cloth, 5s. net. - -In this novel, Anthony Hope, after a long interval, returns again to -similar scenes that formed the background of his famous novel "The -Prisoner of Zenda." - -Captain Dieppe, adventurer, servant of fortune, and, if not a fugitive, -still a man to whom recognition would be inconvenient and perhaps -dangerous, with only fifty francs in his pocket and a wardrobe in -a knapsack might be seen marching up a long steep hill on a stormy -evening. 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These and the other characters who -are interwoven into the story are absolutely natural, convincing and -typical, and will be found most interesting company. - -All the Author's Profits are to be devoted to Italian Refugees. - - - =The Chronicles of St. Tid=: By EDEN PHILLPOTTS. Cloth, and with an - attractive coloured wrapper, 6s. net. - -The scenes in this volume, which contains nearly 100,000 words, are -laid in the West Country, the most popular setting of this famous -author. It shows Eden Phillpotts at his best. - - - A FINE NOVEL OF THE SOUTH SEAS BY A NEW AUTHOR. - - =Rotorua Rex=: By J. ALLEN DUNN. Cloth, and with an attractive - coloured wrapper, 6s. net. - -Everybody is on the look-out for a good strong story of love and -adventure. Here is an exceptionally fine one, on the South Seas, which -all lovers of Stevenson's and Stacpoole's novels will thoroughly enjoy. -Each page grips the attention of the reader, and few will put the book -down till the last page is reached. - - =Simpson of Snell's=: By WILLIAM HEWLETT, Author of "The Child at the - Window," "Introducing William Allison," "The Plot Maker," etc. Cloth, - with an attractive coloured wrapper, 6s. net. - -This is a story, or rather study, of a young clerk, the type of clerk -that the modern commercial machine turns out by the hundred thousand as -a by-product of our civilization. Simpson, invoicing clerk at Snell's, -the celebrated patent-food people, had always seen life through the -medium of thirty shillings a week, and the only oasis in his dreary -desert of existence was his annual fortnight at Margate, where -flannels, cheap excitements and "girls" abounded. - -Why did not Mr. William Hewlett leave Simpson in this humble obscurity? -Well, because Destiny had a great and moving part for him in the comedy -of life! I don't think Simpson ever realized it was a "part" he was -playing. It was certainly not the part he planned for himself, and -throughout the period in which, at Mr. Hewlett's bidding he appears as -a public character, he is seen almost invariably doing the thing he -dislikes. - -Simpson would have pursued the customary course of clerking and -philandering to the end of his days, had it not been for an -enterprising hosier, an unenterprising actor and the egregious -Ottley--the public-school "Spark" dropped into Snell's like a meteor -from the skies. The hosier and the actor introduced poor Simpson to -"temperament," and temperament is a restive horse in a needy clerk's -stable. But Ottley introduced him to Winnie. Winnie was there before, -of course, a typist in his own office. But it was not until Ottley wove -his evil web for Nancy that Winnie wove her innocent spell for Simpson. -And because Winnie held Simpson securely and loved her friend's honour -better than her own happiness, he rose to the full height of manhood, -and to make the supreme sacrifice which turned him, an avowed enemy of -heroics, into the greatest and most unexpected of heroes. - -The story has a strong love-interest running through it with a most -dramatic ending. It cannot fail to increase Mr. William Hewlett's -popularity, and the publishers wish to draw special attention to it. - - - A LADY "SHERLOCK HOLMES." - - A FINE NOVEL BY A NEW AUTHOR. - - =The Green Jacket=: By JENNETTE LEE. A thrilling story of a Lady - Detective who unravels a great Jewel Mystery. 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How he meets and loves Sheila, the young girl chieftain -of the Mac Ross Clan, and their many perils and adventures with rival -claimants and traitors, together with happenings of many historical -persons and incidents appearing throughout the story, make "Claymore" -one of the best and arresting historical novels published for many a -year. - - - =Tales that are Told=: By ALICE PERRIN, Author of "The Anglo-Indians," - etc. Cloth, and with an attractive coloured wrapper, 6s. - -This volume consists of a short novel of about 25,000 words and several -fine Anglo-Indian and other stories. - - EARLY REVIEWS. - -"Ten of her very clever tales."--_The Globe._ - -"This attractive book."--_Observer._ - -"We can cordially recommend this book."--_Western Mail._ - -"An admirable and distinguished bit of writing. Mrs. Perrin at her -best."--_Punch._ - -"I can recommend these stories."--_Evening News._ - - - =Sunny Slopes=: By ETHEL HUESTON. Author of "Prudence of the - Parsonage." 6s. net. with an attractive 3-colour wrapper. - -This story is an inspiration to cheerful living. Not the impossible, -sentimental, goody-goody kind, but the sane, sensible, human and -humorous. Take it up if you are down-cast and learn how to keep the -sunny slopes in sight, even if the way seems to lead into the dark -valley. - -Its appeal is to all who love clean, wholesome, amusing fiction. Both -young and those not so young will glory in Carrol's fight for her -husband's life, and laugh over Connie's hopeless struggle to keep from -acquiring a lord and master. The quotations below will show you that -Ethel Hueston has something to say and knows how to say it. - -"If one can be pretty as well as sensible I think it's a Christian duty -to do it." - -"He is as good as an angel and as innocent as a baby. Two very good -traits, but dangerous when you take them both together." - -"The wickedest fires in the world would die out if there were not some -idle hands to fan them." - -"The only way to keep your husband out of danger is to tackle it -yourself." - -"Read Chapter IV and see how Carol does it." - - - TWO ENTIRELY NEW NOVELS, 3s. 6d. NET EACH. - - =The Cabinet Minister=: By WILLIAM LE QUEUX. Cloth, and with an - attractive coloured wrapper, 3s. 6d. net. - -Mr. Le Queux's famous detective novels need no introduction to readers; -they sell by the tens of thousands. The "Cabinet Minister" is a new -novel with a weird and fascinating plot which holds the reader from -the first page to the last. His Majesty's Cabinet Minister, Mr. George -Chesham, has disappeared in very mysterious circumstances, and in his -place is a dead stranger, who let himself into the house with Mr. -Chesham's own latch-key. This is the problem set for the public and -readers to unravel. The story is full of highly exciting incidents -of love and adventure, with a strong detective interest--the Covers -unravelling the mystery--in the true Le Queux style. - - - =The Secret Monitor=: By GUY THORNE. Author of "The Secret Submarine." - Cloth, with an attractive coloured wrapper, 3s. 6d. net. - -A remarkable, thrilling and swiftly-moving story of love, adventure and -mystery woven round about half a dozen characters on the Atlantic coast -of Ireland, Liverpool and elsewhere, in connection with the invention -of a new material made from papier mâché (destined to take the place of -steel), and the building of a wonderful new ship from it. Finally, when -launched, "The Secret Monitor" goes on a mission to destroy a German -base, and a succession of breathless adventures follow. This novel -ought to considerably increase the popularity which has been gradually -and consistently growing for Mr. Guy Thorne's mystery novels. No one, -after picking up the book, will want to put it down until the last page -is read. - - - SKEFFINGTON'S 1s. 6d. NOVELS. - - BOUND, AND WITH ATTRACTIVE PICTORIAL WRAPPERS. - - =Sir Nigel=: By A. CONAN DOYLE. - - =Spragge's Canyon=: By H. A. VACHELL (Author of "Quinneys"). - - =The Great Plot=: By WILLIAM LE QUEUX, "The Master of Mystery." - - =The Mysterious Mr. Miller=: By WILLIAM LE QUEUX, "The Master of - Mystery." - - =The Leavenworth Case=: By ANNA KATHERINE GREEN. - - _Also uniform with the above_: - - =A Woman Spy=: Further confessions and experiences of Germany's - principal Secret Service woman, Olga von Kopf, edited by HENRY DE - HALSALLE. - - -London: SKEFFINGTON & SON, LTD., Publishers, 34, Southampton Street, -Strand, W.C.2. - - -_Any of the Books in this List can be posted on receipt of a -Remittance._ - - - [Illustration: S&S monogram] - - TELEGRAMS; - LANGUAGE-RAND, - LONDON. - - TELEPHONE NO. - 7435 GERRARD. - - To the Clergy: - Lent, 1918. - - _34, SOUTHAMPTON STREET, - STRAND, LONDON, W.C.2._ - - _PUBLISHERS TO HIS MAJESTY KING GEORGE V._ - - - SKEFFINGTON'S NEW LIST - -Including New Sermons for +Lent, Good Friday+ and +Easter,+ -many of them with special reference to the +Three Years of War,+ -and the special conditions of the times in which we live. Manuals for -+Confirmation, Easter Communion.+ - -[Illustration; line of decorative crosses to divide page] - - =Thoughts for Dark Days=: By the Rev. H. L. GOUDGE, D.D., Canon of - Ely. Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. 6d. net (postage 3d.). - -The purpose of these excellent sermons is to bring out the value of the -Epistle of St. James in this present time of strain and difficulty. The -writer believes that St. James wrote in circumstances very similar to -our own, and that his teaching is in many instances exactly that which -we require. The sermons are arranged as a course for Lent and Easter, -and contain an exposition of almost every important passage in the -Epistle. - - - =Lenten Teaching in War Time=: By the Rev. J. H. WILLIAMS, M.A., - Author of "Christmas Peace in War Time," "Lenten Thoughts in War - Time," etc. Crown 8vo. Cloth, 2s. 6d. net. - -These Addresses are eminently practicable. The effects of the War on -the earthly life are closely followed as illustrations of what takes -place in the Spiritual life. Thus, a comparison is drawn between the -present enforced abstinence occasioned by the War and the Church's -command to self-denial during Lent. - -They contain many new thoughts, and the subjects dealt with are treated -in new ways. The subjects chosen for Ash Wednesday, the Sundays -in Lent, Good Friday, Easter Eve and Easter Day, are singularly -appropriate, viz.: "Self-Denial," "Conflict," "Help," "Perseverance," -"Relief," "Sacrifice." "Triumph," "Suffering," "The Body of Jesus," -"The Conqueror of the Grave." - -Many of the thoughts are illustrated by similes and anecdotes very -touching and appropriate. - -It will be difficult to find Lenten Sermons better suited to country -congregations and to others who appreciate plain teaching. - -They are likely to prove the more palatable because some reference to -the War is contained in each (postage 2d.). - - _Postages to the Colonies are about 25% in excess of Inland Postages._ - - =Fruits of the Passion=: A Daily Watch with Jesus through the - Mysteries of His Sorrow unto the Joy of His Resurrection. By HILDA - PARHAM. Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. net (postage 3d.). - -A work of beauty, ability and intense earnestness. It is full of -beautiful thoughts, and presents a new way of regarding the Season of -Lent. There are no "drybones" in this work. It is therefore interesting -as well as devotional. It supplies a very excellent and necessary -meditation on our want of any real sense of sin. It also presents -excellent teaching in the sinfulness of little sins. - -The book contains brief meditations for Lent upon the Five Sorrowful -Mysteries, impressing the Father's love as shown forth in the life of -Christ and tracing the Fruit of the Holy Spirit in the Passion. - -There is one main thought throughout each week (with illustrative -poem). In simple devotional tone _each day_ strikes its clear note of -Catholic teaching. The Publishers wish to draw very special attention -to this beautiful book. - - - =Life in Christ=, or What It Is to be a Christian: By the REV. CANON - KEYMER, Missioner in the Diocese of Southwell, and formerly Rector - of Headon, Notts. Author of "Salvation in Christ Jesus," "The Holy - Eucharist in Typeland Shadow," etc. Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. net (postage - 3d.). - -The Author of this book was for many years engaged in preaching -Missions, and in giving Courses of Instructions. The teachings then -given have been arranged and connected under the general heading of -"Life in Christ." - -The book will be specially useful to those who desire to have, or to -give to others, consecutive and plain teaching. - - - =At God's Gate=: By the Venerable JOHN WAKEFORD, B.D., Precentor of - Lincoln. Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. net (postage 3d.). - -A Series of Addresses suitable for "A Retreat," "A Quiet Day," or for -private reading with many entirely new thoughts and the expressions of -thought. The book is written with marked ability and can be thoroughly -recommended. - -It contains eight chapters suggesting thought, and stimulating the -praise and worship of God. In these days of emotion and spiritual -disquiet it is a wholesome thing to be drawn to think about the -relation of body and spirit in the harmony of the life of grace. The -mistaken distinctions of natural and spiritual are here put away, and -man is shown in his common life as the Child of God, intent upon doing -his Father's business. - - - =Triplicates of Holy Writ=: By the Rev. J. H. WILLIAMS, M.A. Author - of "Christmas Peace in War Time," "Lenten Thoughts in War Time," etc. - Crown 8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d. net (postage 2d.). - -This book contains fine Addresses for the Sundays in Lent, Good Friday -and Easter Day applicable to the War. - -The Publishers cannot do better than give the chapter headings of the -book which is written in this popular writer's best vein: - -_Ash Wednesday_: The Three Primary Duties--Prayer, Fasting and -Alms-giving. _Lent I._: The Three Temptations. _Lent II._: The Three -Favoured Disciples. _Lent III._: The Three Hebrew Martyrs. _Refreshment -Sunday_: The Three Witnesses. _Passion Sunday_: The Three-One God. -_Palm Sunday_: The Three Burdens. _Good Friday_: The Three Crosses. -_Easter Sunday_: The Threefold Benediction. - - - =Some Penitents of Scripture=: By the late Rev. G. A. COBBOLD. Author - of "Tempted Like as We are." Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. (postage 3d.). - -This book, showing as it does various aspects of that wide subject, -"Repentance," should prove especially useful to the Clergy during the -Season of Lent. - -The first address is a powerful appeal and a clear setting forth of the -meaning of a true repentance. - -In the other six addresses the author dwells in a very original and -practical way on various notable repentances recorded in Holy Scripture. - - - =Piety and Power=: By the Rev. H. CONGREVE HORNE, Author of "The Mind - of Christ crucified." Crown 8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d. net. - -An exposition of "My Duty towards God," as defined in the Catechism, -and of the Eucharist as the means whereby we are empowered to perform -that duty. - -A contribution towards the wider appreciation of the Holy Eucharist as -the grand corporate act of redeemed humanity, bending in lowly homage -before the Sovereign Ruler of the Universe and Father of all mankind. - -Contents: Introduction--Faith, Fear and Love--Worship and -Thanksgiving--Trustfulness and Prayer--God's Holy Name and Word--True -Service--An Epilogue for Holy Week. - -Each chapter is divided into six sections. Those with the four which -form the Introduction will provide a short reading for each week day -of Lent. The Epilogue for Holy Week reviews the leading ideas of the -book by means of outline Meditations on one of the events of each day. -(Postage 2d.). - - - =The Language of the Cross=: By the Rev. J. H. WILLIAMS, M.A. Author - of "Christmas Peace in War Time," "Lenten Thoughts in War Time," etc. - Crown 8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d. net (postage 2d.). - -This excellent book contains plain addresses written on new lines of -thought, on "The Seven Last Words." - -They have copious reference to the War and are likely to prove useful -for the Three Hours' Service, or as Addresses during Lent and Passion. - -The subjects include: "The Word of Intercession," "The Word of Kingly -Majesty," "The Word of Filial Affection," "The Word of Desertion," "The -Word of Agonized Humanity," "The Word of Victory," "The Word of Death." - - - =God's Love and Man's Perplexity=: By the Rev. A. V. MAGEE, Vicar of - St. Mark's, Hamilton Terrace. Author of "The Message of the Guest - Chamber" (3rd edition), etc. Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. net (postage 3d.). - -This book, which deals with various aspects of the love of God, will -be specially useful for Retreats and Quiet Days, or for courses of -Sermons. It is also a message of Hope in war time, for all who feel -unable to reconcile the love of God with the horrors of war. - -The chapters deal with "The Prodigality of Love," "The Claim and -Response of Love," "The Quality of Divine Love," "The Joy of Love," -"The Timeliness of Love," "The Tardiness of Love, the Power and -Patience of Love," "Love's Reward of Obedience," "Love's Perplexity." - -It is excellent in every way, and can be thoroughly recommended. - -Her Majesty the Queen has been graciously pleased to say that she will -be pleased to accept a copy of this book on publication. - - - =Prayer the Sign-Post of Victory=: Addresses written for January 6th, - 1918, but eminently suitable for general use. By the REV. CANON C. LL. - IVENS, H. CONGREVE HORNE and J. H. WILLIAMS. 2s. 6d. net. - -This book contains five addresses, the chapter headings being: -"A Time Call to Prayer and Thanksgiving," "The King's Command," -"Prayerfulness," "Clearsightedness," "What the Crib reveals in Time of -War," and an "Appendix of Prayers." - - - =Religion and Reconstruction.= Cloth, crown 8vo., 3s. 6d. net (postage - 3d.). - -If the War has taught us anything at all, it has most certainly -taught us that many of our national institutions and many phases of -our social life need urgent reform. Men's minds are turning towards -reconstruction. The whole fabric of Church and State is quickly -coming under the ken of an impatient public, and there is a danger -that they will be guided more by the heart than the head. Problems of -Reconstruction call for the consideration of men of stability and high -character. As the Church's contribution to this momentous discussion, -the forthcoming book on "RELIGION AND RECONSTRUCTION" is one that -everybody will find extremely valuable. - -It has been written by: - - The RT. REV. C. J. RIDGEWAY, D.D., Bishop of Chichester. - The RT. REV. J. A. KEMPTHORNE, D.D., Bishop of Lichfield. - The RT. REV. B. POLLOCK, C.V.O., D.D., Bishop of Norwich. - The RT. REV. W. W. PERRIN, D.D., M.A., Bishop of Willesden. - The RT. REV. J. E. C. WELLDON, D.D., Dean of Manchester. - The VERY REV. W. M. EDE, D.D., M.A., Dean of Worcester. - The RT. REV. G. H. FRODSHAM, D.D., Canon of Gloucester. - The HON. and REV. CANON JAMES ADDERLEY, M.A. - The VEN. JOHN WAKEFORD, Precentor of Lincoln, B.D. - MONSIGNOR POOCK, D.D. - The REV. W. E. ORCHARD, D.D. (Presbyterian). - The REV. F. B. MEYER, B.A., D.D. (Baptist). - F. C. SPURR (Baptist). - -leaders of religious thought, who are something more than students of -social questions. - -The book covers a very wide field, from questions of Education and -Imperial Politics to those of Family and Domestic Interest. It is the -book every parish priest, in fact every minister of religion, should -read and discuss with his parishioners and adult classes. - - - =Faith and the War=: By ARTHUR MACHEN, Author of "The Bowmen: and - other Legends of the War." Crown 8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d. net (postage 2d.). - -This very ably written book contains excellent doctrine which ought to -prove helpful to any Christian of any religious persuasion. The errors -of Infidelity and the absurdities of Spiritualism are exposed in a -courteous manner. The subjects include: "The Contradictions of Life," -"Faith," "The Freethinker," "The Religion of the Plain Man," etc. - - - =The Round of the Church's Clock=: By the Rev. JOHN SINKER, Vicar of - Lytham, and Rural Dean of the Fylde. Author of "Into the Church's - Service," "The Prayer Book in the Pulpit," "The War; Its Deeds and - Lessons," etc. With an introduction by the Right Rev. G. H. S. - Walpole, D.D., Lord Bishop of Edinburgh. Recently published. Crown - 8vo, cloth, 3s. 6d. net (postage 4d). - -An entirely new series of Addresses, including one Sermon for each of -the Church's Seasons from Advent to Trinity. - -These addresses are popular in style, and abound in illustrations -and other matter calculated to arrest and hold the attention of any -congregation. Messrs. Skeffington consider them among the very best -they have ever published. - -=Dr. Walpole, Bishop of Edinburgh=, writes: "I have no hesitation in -commending these simple addresses to the Clergy, and all those who -have the responsibility of expounding the teaching of the Church's -seasons. 'The Round of the Church's Clock' contains not only clear and -definite teaching, but it also abounds in stories, poems, experiences -and analogies, which not only enable the listener to understand what -is preached, but to be interested. While Mr. Sinker never belittles -the sacredness of the high subjects he treats, he makes them easily -understood." - - - =God and His Children=: By the Rev. F. W. WORSEY, M.A., Vicar of - Bodenham. Author of "Praying Always," "Under the War Cloud," "War - and the Easter Hope," etc. Just out. Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. 6d. net - (postage 4d.). - -An entirely new series of simple practical Sermons, including: Six for -Lent on The Child of God, three for Good Friday and Easter, four for -Advent on the Godhead, three for Christmas and New Year on the Divine -Son, and two for Epiphany. - -It will be seen that this new volume provides a complete course of -preaching from Advent to Easter, and will be found in all respects -equal to its author's previous volumes. - - -SIXTH IMPRESSION OF THIS REMARKABLE BOOK, WITH AN ENTIRELY NEW CHAPTER. - - =Prophecy and the War:= By the Rev. E. J. NURSE, Rector of Windermere. - Price 3s. net (postage 2½d.). - -Seven Remarkable Prophecies on the War. This volume, which has proved -so unusually striking and interesting, includes The Divine Potter -Moulding the Nations--The Return of the Jews to Palestine--The -Four World-Empires foretold by Daniel--The Downfall of the Turkish -Empire--The Desolation and Restoration of Jerusalem--The Second -Coming--The Millennium. Also an entirely New Chapter, entitled, -"Armageddon; or, The Coming of Antichrist." - - - =Tennyson's "In Memoriam:"= Its Message to the Bereaved and Sorrowful. - By the Rev. T. A. MOXON, M.A., Editor of "St. Chrysostom, on the - Priesthood," etc. Assistant Master of Shrewsbury School, formerly - Vicar and Rural Dean of Alfreton. Crown 8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d. net - (postage 2½d.). - -Six Addresses on the subject of Tennyson's Poem in relation to the -present War. The "In Memoriam" is a record of the poet's gradual -struggle from despair to faith, after the blow of the sudden death -of his friend, A. H. Hallam. These addresses are specially composed -to help the bereaved and sorrowful; they deal with the problems of -Suffering, Death, Communion with the Departed, Faith and Hope, and -the Message of Christ, as expressed by the late Lord Tennyson. This -volume may be given to the bereaved; it may also be found useful for -preachers, and those who minister to the sorrowful. - - - =Our Lenten Warfare=: For Lent. By the Rev. H. L. GOUDGE, D.D., Canon - of Ely, with Special Foreword by the Bishop of London. Crown 8vo, - cloth, 2s. 6d. net (postage 4d.). Third Impression. - -Nine entirely new Sermons for Ash Wednesday, the Six Sundays in Lent, -Good Friday and Easter Day. These most valuable and specially written -Addresses deal with the Lenten Warfare of the Soul against Sin, in -connection with the lessons of the Great War. - -=The Bishop of London= says: "This excellent little book will commend -itself by its own merit. The whole idea of the new Christian soldier -as we understand him in the light of the war is so clearly worked out, -without one superfluous word, that 'he who runs may read.' If I may, -however, pick out one chapter out of the rest, I would choose that on -'The New Army.' The teaching of this chapter is VITAL." - - - =The Fellowship of the Holy Eucharist=: For Lent. By the Rev. G. LACEY - MAY, M.A., Author of "What is The National Mission?" Crown 8vo, cloth, - 2s. 6d. net (postage 3d.). - -Forty entirely new Devotional Readings on the Sacrament of Love, -specially suitable for the Forty Days of Lent, and most valuable in -connection with the recent Mission Preaching and Teaching on the -Subject. Among the subjects are: Fellowship with Our Lord--with -The Holy Spirit--with The Angels--with Our Fellow-men--with The -Suffering--with The Departed--with Nature. Full of material for -Eucharistic Sermons. - - - =The Love of our Lord=: By the Rev. JOHN BERESFORD-PEIRSE, with - Preface by the Bishop of Bloemfontein. Crown 8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d. net - (postage 4d.). - -An entirely new Set of Addresses to Boys and Young Men, which will -be found invaluable for Teaching and for Mission Work. Among the -twenty-one subjects are Prayer, Thanksgiving, Confirmation, The Holy -Eucharist, Faith, Hope, Love, Service, Friendship, Purity, etc. - - - =Christ's Message in Times of Crisis=: By the Rev. E. C. DEWICK, some - time Vice-Principal of St. Aidan's, Birkenhead Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. - 6d. net (postage 5d.). - -Twenty Sermons originally preached at St. Aidan's College. A singularly -interesting set of Addresses, twelve of which are on subjects connected -with THE WAR. They will be found very useful and valuable at the -present time. - - - =Short Village Homilies=: By the Rev. F. L. H. MILLARD, M.A., Vicar of - St. Aidan's, Carlisle. Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. 6d. net (postage 5d.). - -A new Series of short and simple Sermons, specially adapted during -these times for Villages and Evening Addresses in large towns. They -include Six Sundays in Lent, Mourners and Bereaved, a Memorial Sermon, -and several specially for use during War. - -N.B.--These Sermons are prepared to give practical help until Trinity. -The volume includes special Sermons on the War; To Mourners; Memorial -Sermon; a complete course for Lent; also Good Friday, Easter, etc., -etc. They are thoroughly interesting, practical sermons of a Mission -type for villagers and for evening services in large towns. - - - =In the Hand of God=: By GERTRUDE HOLLIS. 2s. 6d. net. (postage 2d.). - -In Memory of the Departed. This new and beautiful little volume -contains thirty Short Chapters, full of comfort and hope for the -Bereaved in this War. There is a space for the names of the Departed, -and the Meditations on Paradise and the Resurrection are full of -consolation. - - - =Praying Always (Eph. vi.--18). Ash Wednesday to Easter in War Time=: - By the Rev. F. W. WORSEY, Vicar of Bodenham, Author of "Under the War - Cloud," Nine Sermons, etc. Crown 8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d. net (postage - 3d.). Published 1916. - -Nine Plain Sermons for Ash Wednesday, each Sunday in Lent, Good -Friday, and Easter Day. These Sermons deal largely with Lenten Prayer -during the War: "The Call--The Object--The Difficulties, The Effect -of Prayer--The Prayers from the Cross--The Easter Triumph of Prayer." -=The Church Times= said of Mr. Worsey's former volume: "We should like -to think that in every Country Church the War has found Parish Priests -ready to give such admirable counsel to their people." - - - =The Discipline of War=: For Lent. By the Rev. Canon J. HASLOCH - POTTER, M.A. 2s. net (postage 2d.). Second Impression. Published 1915. - -Nine Addresses, including Ash Wednesday, the Six Sundays in Lent, Good -Friday and Easter Day. - - - =Lenten Thoughts in War Time=: By the Rev. J. H. WILLIAMS, M.A., - Author of "Village Sermons." Crown 8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d. net (postage - 4d.). Published 1916. - -Nine Plain Addresses, specially written for the Lenten Season in -connection with the War. They include Sermons for Ash Wednesday, the -six Sundays in Lent, Good Friday, and Easter Day. These addresses -embrace the duties which we owe to God, to ourselves, to the nation, -and to the Church. - - - =The Greatest War=: For Lent. By the Rev. A. C. BUCKELL, of St. - Saviour's, Ealing. Fcap. 8vo, cloth, 2s. net (postage 2d.). - -This most interesting course of Six Lent Sermons will be found valuable -at the present time. Among the subjects most strikingly treated are: -The War--Its Author--Its Cause--The Equipment--The Trial--The End--and -the Glory of the War. - - - =The Prayer of the Lord and the Lord of the Prayer=: For Lent. By the - Rev. T. A. SEDGWICK, M.A. Crown 8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d. net (postage 4d.). - -Six Addresses on the Lord's Prayer, and also a complete Set of -Addresses on the Seven Last Words. A striking volume for Lent and Holy -Week. - - - =The World's Destiny=: By a LAYMAN. Crown 8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d. net - (postage 4d.). - -A challenge by a Layman to the Clergy of the Church of England. The -writer deals with the question of Our Lord's Return. In a catholic -spirit, he asks whether the clergy are not seriously neglecting an -important part of Catholic Truth in failing to teach the literal -fulfilment of prophecy. The book is scholarly and arresting; the -arguments are marshalled clearly and with legal fairness and acumen; -the challenge is one which demands attention and an answer. - - - =With the C.L.B. Battalion in France=: By the Rev. JAMES DUNCAN, - Chaplain to the 16th K.R.R. (C.L.B.). With Frontispiece and a most - interesting Preface by the Rev. EDGAR ROGERS. Cloth, 2s. 6d. net - (postage 4d.). - -This intensely interesting book gives an account of the doings of the -Battalion raised from the Church Lads' Brigade. Among the vivid and -striking chapters are Going to the Front--In France--In Billets--In the -Firing Line--The Trenches--The Red Harvest of War, etc. - - -TO MEET THE NEEDS OF THE TIME NEW AND CHEAP EDITIONS HAVE BEEN ISSUED -OF THE FOLLOWING SIX VALUABLE AND INTERESTING VOLUMES. - - =1. Mission Preaching for a Year=: 86 Original Mission Sermons. Two - Vols. Crown 8vo, cloth, 10s. net (postage 7d.) The whole work probably - constitutes the most complete Manual of Mission Preaching ever - published. - - VOL. I., containing forty-one Sermons, from Advent to Whit Sunday, - separately. 5s. net (postage 5d.). - - VOL. II., containing forty-five Sermons, for all the - Sundays in Trinity and many occasional (_e.g._, All - Saints--Holy Communion--Sunday Observance--Opening of an - Organ--Harvest--Flower Service--Service for Men--Service for - Women--Missions--Temperance--Funeral--Social Clubs--Empire Sermon, - etc.), separately. 5s. net (postage 5d.). - -These Sermons are by the most practical and experienced Mission -Preachers of the day, including amongst many others the Archbishop of -York, Bishops of London, Manchester, Chichester, Birmingham, Bishop -Ingham, Deans of Bristol and Bangor, Canons Hay, Aitken, Atherton, -Barnett, Body, Scott Holland, Lester, Archdeacons Sinclair, Madden -and Taylor, The Revs. W. Black, F. M. Blakiston, H. J. Wilmot-Buxton, -Robert Catterall, W. H. Hunt, A. V. Magee, A. H. Stanton, P. N. -Waggett, John Wakeford, Paul Bull, A. J. Waldron, Cyril Bickersteth, -etc., etc. - - - =2. The Sunday Round=: By the Rev. S. BARING-GOULD, M.A., Author of - "Village Preaching." Two Vols. Crown 8vo, cloth, 6s. net (postage 6d.). - - VOL. I., Advent to Fifth after Easter. 3s. net (postage 5d.). - - VOL. II., Ascensiontide to the end of Trinity, etc. 3s. net (postage - 5d.). - -Being a Plain Village Sermon for each Sunday and some Chief Festivals -of the Christian Year, after the style and model of the same Author's -first series of "Village Preaching for a Year." Printed in Large Clear -Type, and brimful of original thoughts, ideas and illustrations, which -will prove a mine of help in the preparation of Sermons, whether -written or extempore. - -"From beginning to end these simple, forcible and intensely practical -sermons will give pleasure and instruction. They are written with -scholarly freshness and vigour, and teem with homely illustrations -appealing equally to the educated and the honest labourer."--_Guardian._ - -NOTE.--The above series of Village Sermons forms a perfect storehouse -of Teaching, Illustration, and Anecdote, for the Sundays of the whole -Year and will be found invaluable to the Preacher in Country Towns and -Villages. - - - =3. The Church's Lessons for the Christian Year=: By the Rev. Dr. A. - G. MORTIMER. Two Volumes. Crown 8vo, cloth, 9s. net (postage 7d.). - - VOL. I., Advent to Fifth Sunday after Easter (60 Sermons, being two - sermons for every Sunday) separately. 4s. 6d. net (postage 5d.). - - VOL. II., Ascension Day to Advent. 4s. 6d. net (postage 5d.). - -Sixty Sermons for the Sundays and Chief Holy Days, on Texts from -the OLD Testament Lessons, and Sixty Sermons on Texts from the NEW -Testament, appropriate to the occasion, thus forming a complete Year's -Sermons, 120 in number, for Mattins and Evensong. - -=The Church Times= says: "We like these Sermons very much. They are -full of wholesome thought and teaching, and very practical. Quite as -good, spiritual and suggestive, as his 'Helps to Meditation.'" - -=The Guardian= says: "We do not often notice a volume of Sermons we can -praise with so few reservations." - - - =4.Sorrow, Hope and Prayer=: By the Rev. Dr. A. G. MORTIMER. THIRD - THOUSAND. Crown 8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d. net (postage 4d.). - -This beautiful book forms a companion volume to the same Author's most -popular work, "It Ringeth to Evensong." It will be found a great help -and comfort to the bereaved, and to those in sorrow and suffering. - -N.B.--An edition of this book, most handsomely bound in rich leather, -with rounded corners and gold over red edges, lettered in gold, forming -a really beautiful Gift-book. 7s. 6d. net (postage 5d.). - -"Many books exist with similar aim, but this seems exactly what is -wanted."--_Church Times._ - - - =5.Bible Object-Lessons=: By the late Rev. H. J. WILMOT-BUXTON, - M.A. Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. 6d. net (postage 5d.). - -Thirty Plain Sermons, including Four for Advent, Six for Lent, -Christmas, Easter, etc., etc., and many General Sermons. - -"These Sermons have sound doctrine, copious illustrations, and -excellent moral teaching. They are particularly suited for Village -Congregations."--_Church Times._ - -"These Sermons on divine object-lessons are justly published, for -they are infused with a spirit of sensible as well as devotional -churchmanship, with simple practical teaching. Mr. Buxton is a -recognized master of the simple and devotional."--_Guardian._ - - - =6.Till the Night is Gone=: By the late Rev. J. B. C. MURPHY. - SECOND IMPRESSION. Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. 6d. net (postage 5d.). - -A volume of Thirty Sermons, including Four for Advent, Christmas, Six -for Lent, Good Friday, Easter, and many General Sermons. - - OPINIONS OF MR. MURPHY'S SERMONS. - -"Sermons of a very straightforward and forcible kind, much wanted in -the present day."--_National Church._ - -=A Rector in the Midlands= writes: "_These are perfect Sermons for -Villagers_, and calculated to do an enormous amount of good. A -congregation that listens to such sermons is to be envied indeed." - -"Can be heartily praised. Never uninstructive and never dull. The -sermons have force, directness, actuality, with simplicity of style. -Full of brightness and vivacity. Nobody could go to sleep where such -sermons are delivered."--_Guardian._ - - -TWO VOLUMES OF SERMONS ON HYMNS. - - =Popular Hymns: their Authors and Teachers=: By the late CANON DUNCAN, - Vicar of St. Stephen's, Newcastle-on-Tyne. CHEAP Edition. Crown 8vo, - cloth, 4s. 6d. net (postage 5d.). - -A Series of thirty-six Sermons on popular hymns. Most attractive and -instructive Sermons. - -"We can bear very strong personal testimony to the great delight and -usefulness of Canon Duncan's beautiful and impressive work."--_Record._ - -"A deeply interesting and helpful book."--_Church Family Newspaper._ - - - =Hymns and their Singers=: By the late Rev. M. H. JAMES, LL.D., Vicar - of St. Thomas', Hull. SECOND IMPRESSION. Crown 8vo, cloth, 4s. 6d. net - (postage 4d.). - -Twenty-one Sermons on popular Hymns. These very original Sermons deal -not only with the meaning of the words, but are full of interesting -information as to the Authorship and History of the various Hymns. - -=The Church of Ireland Gazette= says: "The writer is to be -congratulated. There are twenty-one extremely interesting and -attractive Sermons." - - - =On the Way Home=: By the Rev. W. H. JONES. THIRD IMPRESSION. Crown - 8vo, cloth, 4s. 6d. net (postage 4d.). - -Sixty Sermons for Life's Travellers, for all the Sundays and Chief Holy -Days in the Christian Year. - -"We believe that everyone on reading these short Addresses will agree -with us in the high opinion we have formed of them. They are replete -with anecdotes drawn from life, and such as are calculated to fix the -attention of homely folk for whom especially they are intended. Written -as they are by a Priest of the Diocese of Lincoln, they breathe much -of that spirit of love which one has learned to associate with that -favoured See."--_Church Times._ - - - =The Country Pulpit=: By the Rev. J. A. CRAIGIE, M.A., Vicar of - Otterford. Crown 8vo, cloth, 4s. 6d. net (postage 4d.). - -This excellent volume of Village Sermons includes Advent, Christmas, -Epiphany, and the Sundays from Septuagesima to Easter, besides General -Sermons. - -"We feel convinced that these sermons were listened to, and that their -author will be heard again."--_National Church._ - - - =The Good Shepherd=: The last book by the late Rev. Canon GEORGE BODY. - SECOND IMPRESSION. Cloth, boards, 2s. 6d. net (postage 3d.). - -A Series of Meditations. (The Pastorate of Jesus--The Fold--Personal -Knowledge of Jesus--Guidance--Sustenance--Healing--Paradise, etc.). - - -BOOKS FOR THE FORTY DAYS OF LENT - - =New and Contrite Hearts=: By the late Rev. H. J. WILMOT-BUXTON, M.A. - EIGHTH IMPRESSION. Crown 8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d. net (postage 3d.). - -Forty brief Meditations, one for every day in Lent, from Ash Wednesday -to Easter Eve. A new and cheaper Edition of these most popular -Readings, which include a Set of Seven Short Addresses on the Seven -Last Words. - -"Just such readings as will help the devout soul to realize the -blessing which follows a well observed Lent."--_Church Family -Newspaper._ - - - =Lenten Lights and Shadows=: By the Author of "The Six Maries," etc. - Fcap. 8vo, cloth, bevelled boards, 2s. 6d. net (postage 3d.). - -Meditations for the Forty Days of Lent, with additional readings for -the Sundays in Lent and Easter Day. This book of Short and Beautiful -Readings for the days of Lent is strongly recommended. - - - =The Last Discourses of Our Lord=: By the Rev. DR. A. G. MORTIMER. NEW - AND CHEAPER EDITION. THIRD IMPRESSION. Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. 6d. net - (postage 5d.). - -In Forty Addresses or Readings for the Forty Days of Lent. - -A New Edition of this valuable book, which is now published at 3s. 6d. -net instead of 5s. net. - - - =The Halo of Life=: By Rev. HARRY WILSON, formerly Vicar of St. - Augustine's, Stepney. ELEVENTH IMPRESSION. Cloth, 1s. 6d. net (postage - 2d.). - -Forty Little Readings on Humility, specially suitable for the Forty -Days of Lent. Suited for general distribution. - -"This is a valuable little book, which we most highly recommend. How -many thousand families might be blessed by this invaluable work if its -noble rules were applied to daily life."--_Church Review._ - - - BY THE SAME AUTHOR. - - =Catholic Teaching=; or, Our Life and His Love. A Series of Fifty-six - Simple Instructions in the Christian Life. FOURTEENTH IMPRESSION. - Cloth, 2s. net (postage 2d.). - -=The Church Review= says: "Has the true ring of Catholic Teaching, -persuasively and eloquently put in the plainest English. This valuable -little book is as good as any we can recommend." - - - =A Treasury of Meditation=, or Suggestions, as Aids to those Who - Desire to Lead a Devout Life. By the REV. CANON KNOX LITTLE. - THIRTEENTH IMPRESSION. Printed throughout in red and black, on - specially made paper, and bound in crimson cloth, bevelled boards, - with burnished red edges, 4s. 6d. net (postage 4d.). - -A Manual of brief Meditations on various subjects, _e.g._, On Sin--On -the World--On Things of Ordinary Life--On Nearness to God--On the -Perfect Life--On the Life and Offices of Christ--On the Cross of -Christ--On the Holy Ghost--On Saints and Angels--On the Blessed -Sacrament--On Life, Death, and Eternity, etc. - -N.B.--Each one includes brief Directions, Meditation, Question, -Resolve, Prayer, Work of Christ, Verse of Hymn. This Manual is -invaluable for the whole Christian Year. - - - =The Guided Life=; or, Life Lived under the Guidance of the Holy - Spirit. By the late Rev. CANON GEORGE BODY. EIGHTH IMPRESSION. Fcap. - 8vo, cloth, 1s. 6d. net (postage 1½d.). - -The Way of Contrition; The Way of Sanctity; The Way of Patience; The -Way of Ministry, etc. - -"Of very great value."--_Guardian._ - -"Very bright, cheering, helpful, and valuable meditations."--_Church -Review._ - - - =The Mystery of Suffering=: By Rev. S. BARING-GOULD. A NEW AND CHEAP - EDITION FOR LENT (the Tenth). 2s. 6d. net (postage 4d.). - -A Course of Lent Lectures: 1. The Mystery of Suffering. 2. The Occasion -of Suffering. 3. The Capacity for Suffering. 4. Suffering Educative. 5. -Suffering Evidential. 6. Suffering Sacrificial. - -"This is the very poetry of Theology; it is a very difficult subject -very beautifully handled."--_Church Quarterly._ - - - =The Mountain of Blessedness=: By DR. C. J. RIDGEWAY, Bishop of - Chichester. FIFTH IMPRESSION. Cloth, 2s. 6d. net (postage 3d.). - -A Series of Plain Lent Addresses on the Beatitudes. - - - FOR CHILDREN'S SERVICES. - - =The King and His Soldiers=: By M. E. CLEMENTS, Author of "Missionary - Stories." Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. net (postage 4d.). - -Twenty-six Talks with Boys and Girls, from Advent to Whit Sunday. These -Addresses will be found of the greatest possible interest for Children, -and will be invaluable for Addresses in Church, in School, or for Home -Reading for the Sundays in Advent, Christmas, Epiphany, Lent, Easter, -and up to Whit Sunday. They cannot fail to seize and hold the attention -of young people. - - - =The Children's Law=: By Rev. G. R. OAKLEY, M.A., B.D. 2s. 6d. net - (postage 4d.). - -Plain Talks to Children on the Commandments, the Sacramental -Ordinances, and on Rules of Life and Worship, of the greatest value in -instructing and helping the Young; for use in Church, Sunday School, or -at Home. - -_A strikingly beautiful little book._ - - - =Missionary Stories of the Olden Time=: By MARY E. CLEMENTS. 2s. net - (postage 3d.). - -A Series of deeply interesting Stories specially suited for -Young People, full of picturesque incidents in the Story of the -Evangelization of the British Isles. Among the contents are the Stories -of St. Alban--St. Patrick--The Boys in the Slave Market--Of Gregory -and the Young Angles--The Conversion of Kent--Sussex--Wessex, etc. A -delightful book for children and others. - - - TWO VOLUMES OF SERMONS TO CHILDREN. - - =Sermons to Children=: First Series. By the Rev. S. BARING-GOULD. - THIRTEENTH IMPRESSION. 4s. 6d. net (postage 4d.). - -Including a set of Six on Children's Duties and Faults -(Tidiness--Idleness--Wilfulness--Obedience--Perseverance--Idle Talk, -etc.), and also a set of Four on the Seasons of the Year. - -=The Church Quarterly= says: "These are really Sermons suited _for_ -Children, alike in mode of thought, simplicity of language, and lessons -conveyed, and they are very beautiful. No mere critical description -can do justice to the charm with which spiritual and moral lessons are -made to flow (not merely are drawn) out of natural facts or objects. -Stories, too, are made use of with admirable taste, and the lessons -taught are, without exception, sound and admirable. We cannot doubt -that the volume will be, and will remain, a standard favourite." - - - =Sermons to Children=: Second Series. Crown 8vo, cloth, 4s. 6d. net - (postage 4d.). - -Twenty-four Sermons, including Advent, Christmas, Lent, Easter, -Whitsunday, Trinity, and many General Sermons. - -The immense success of Mr. BARING-GOULD'S former Series of Sermons to -Children, of which thirteen editions have already been sold, will make -this new volume doubly welcome. - -=The Church Times= says: "There will be a run on this volume. The -stories are most cleverly told, and the lessons are all that they -should be. No child who reads or hears these Addresses will be left in -doubt as to what he ought to believe and do." - - - TWO VOLUMES OF SERMONS TO CHILDREN. - - =Led by a Little Child=: (Isaiah xi. 6). By the late H. J. - WILMOT-BUXTON. SIXTH IMPRESSION. Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. 6d. net - (postage 4d.). - -A Series of Fifteen Short Addresses or Readings for Children. Among -the Subjects and Titles of the Addresses are "The Lion and the Lamb," -"The Serpent and the Dove," "Wolves," "Foxes," "The Sparrow and the -Swallow," "Eagles' Wings," "Sermons in Stones," "Four Feeble Things" -(Prov. xxx. 24), "What the Cedar Beam Saw," etc., etc. - -"Bright, simply-worded homilies for children, with plenty of -anecdotes and illustrations, which are not dragged in, but really -do help the lesson to be enforced. Very useful for reading aloud to -children."--_Guardian._ - -"Models of what children's sermons should be."--_Ecclesiastical -Gazette._ - - - =Parable Sermons for Children=: A Cheap Edition. Crown 8vo, cloth, 2s. - 6d. net (postage 3d.). - -These beautiful Sermons generally begin with a Story or Parable, and -cannot fail to arrest and hold the attention of children. The original -Edition was published at 3s. 6d. It is now reduced to 2s. 6d. net. - - - =The Boys and Girls of the Bible=: By Rev. CANON J. HAMMOND. Two - Vols., 12s. net (postage 5d.). - -Two Volumes of Sermons on Old and New Testament Characters. - - VOL. I., Old Testament, 6s. net (postage 4d.). - VOL. II., New Testament, 6s. net (postage 4d.). - - - =The Church Catechism in Anecdote=: Collected and Arranged by the late - Rev. L. M. DALTON, M.A. FOURTH IMPRESSION. Cloth, 2s. 6d. net (postage - 4d.). - -Providing one or more anecdotes illustrating each clause of the Church -Catechism, the teacher being left to apply the materials thus provided. -An endeavour has been made to find good anecdotes which have not been -used in other well-known books on the Church Catechism, and the volume -cannot fail to delight and interest the children who are being taught. - - - CHURCH MUSIC FOR LENT AND EASTER. - - =The Benedicite, for Septuagesima and Lent=: (Shortened Form.) Six - simple chant settings, the second half of each verse being repeated - after every third verse only, thus repeating it _eleven_ instead of - thirty-two times. - -NO. 1, in D, by MARTIN S. SKEFFINGTON. NO. 2, in G, by MARTIN S. -SKEFFINGTON.--NO. 3, in B Flat, by MARTIN S. SKEFFINGTON.--NO. 1, in -E Flat, by H. HAMILTON JEFFERIES.--NO. 2, in A Flat, by H. HAMILTON -JEFFERIES.--NO. 3, in G, by H. HAMILTON JEFFERIES. - -The price of each of the above, Words and Music complete, is 2d., or 25 -Copies of any one setting for 3s. net (postage 2d.). One Copy of each -of these Six Settings post free for 1s. - - - MUSIC BY H. HAMILTON JEFFERIES. - - =Vesper Hymn=: "Part in Peace," to be sung kneeling, after the - Benediction. The Words by SARAH F. ADAMS, author of "Nearer, my God, - to Thee," and the Music by H. HAMILTON JEFFERIES. Complete with Music, - 1d., or Twenty-five Copies for 1s. 9d. net (postage 1d.). The Words - separately, price ½d., or 1s. 6d. net per 100 (postage 2d.). - - - =The Morning Service in Chant Form= in D Major, including Kyrie. Price - 2d., or Twenty-five Copies for 3s. net (postage 4d.). - -A simple Service in Chant Form for Village and Parish Choirs, including -chants for the Venite, quadruple for the Te Deum (the Words printed in -full), for the Benedictus or Jubilate, and a Kyrie. A melodious and -attractive Service for congregational use. - - - =The Story of the Cross=: A beautiful setting for Parish Choirs, by - H. HAMILTON JEFFERIES. Price 1d., or Twenty-five Copies for 1s. 9d. - net (postage 2d.). The Words separately, ½d., or 1s. 6d. net per 100 - (postage 2d.). - -This devotional and lovely setting, both in compass and simplicity, is -perfectly suited for Choirs in Towns or Villages. - -=A Midland Vicar writes=:--"I have tried nearly all the settings used, -but yours is the most tuneful of all." - - - =An Easter Service of Song=: Complete with Music. Price 4d. The Words - separately, price ½., or 3s. 6d. net per 100 (postage 4d.). - -A complete Order of Service, short and simple, for Eastertide, with -Hymns and Carols. Special tunes by Sir J. F. BRIDGE, etc. - - - =The Late Canon Woodward's Children's Service Book=: 394th Thousand. - Services, Prayers, Hymns, Litanies, Carols, etc. - -The Complete Words Edition, stitched, price 3d. net. Strong limp cloth, -6d. net. Handsome cloth boards, 8d. net. Complete Musical Edition, 3s. -6d. net (Inland postage 5d.). - - Clergymen desirous of making CHILDREN'S SERVICES REALLY POPULAR and - THOROUGHLY ATTRACTIVE both to children and their elders should send - for Specimen Copy. Post free, 3-½d. - - - VOLUMES OF SERMONS, ADDRESSES OR READINGS ESPECIALLY SUITABLE FOR LENT - AND EASTER, MANY CONTAINING COMPLETE COURSES. - - =The Prodigal Son=: By Rev. A. C. BUCKELL, M.A. of St. Saviour's, - Ealing. Fcap. 8vo, cloth, 2s. net (postage 2d.). SECOND IMPRESSION. - -Six new and most picturesque Sermons for Lent and Easter, the various -events being vividly described in six scenes. - -Act I. The Two Sons. Scene. A Home.--Act II. The Far Country. Scene. -A Hotel.--Act III. The Awakening. Scene. A Pigsty.--Act IV. The -Reconciliation. Scene. A Garden.--Act V. The Feast. Scene 1. A Dining -Room. Scene 2. A Study. - - - =The Men of the Passion=: By T. W. CRAFER, D.D. Author of "The Women - of the Passion." Fcap. 8vo, cloth, 2s. net (postage 2d.). - -A Series of Holy Week Addresses. (The Friends--The Enemies--The -Betrayer--The Judges--The Friends in Death--The Friends after -Death--The Men of the Resurrection.) These Addresses form a complete -course for use during the Sundays in Lent or the Days of Holy Week. - - - =The Women of the Passion=: By the Rev. T. W. CRAFER, D.D., Vicar of - All Saints, Cambridge. SECOND IMPRESSION. Fcap. 8vo, cloth, 2s. net - (postage 2d.). - -Holy Week Addresses, including: "The Blessed Virgin--Mary of -Bethany--The Daughters of Jerusalem--Pilate's Wife--Mary Magdalene and -her Companions," etc. - -"Marked by great freshness, point, and originality of conception, and -are eminently practical. We highly commend them."--_Church of Ireland -Gazette._ - - - =Some Actors in Our Lord's Passion=: By the Rev. H. LILIENTHAL. NEW - AND CHEAPER EDITION. SIXTH IMPRESSION. 2s. 6d. net (postage 4d.). - -A Course of very beautiful and striking Lent Addresses or Readings -(Judas--Peter--Caiaphas--Pontius Pilate--Herod--Barabbas), together -with two special additional Sermons, viz.: "The Meaning of the Cross," -for Good Friday, and "Christ's Resurrection," for Easter. - -=Bishop Clark= writes: "The characters stand before us with wondrous -vividness.... I wish that these discourses might be read in every -Parish during Lent, for they have touched me more deeply than any -sermons I have ever read. They must appeal to the young, as well as to -the mature mind." - -"Excellent Sermons--dramatic in treatment--and well fitted to hold the -attention."--_Church Times._ - - - =Lenten Preaching=: Lent Sermons by the Rev. DR. A. G. MORTIMER, - Author of "Helps to Meditation." FOURTH IMPRESSION. Crown 8vo, cloth, - 3s. 6d. net (postage 5d.). - -Three Courses of Sermons for Lent and Holy Week, viz.: 1st--Six -Addresses on the Sunday Epistles for Lent. 2nd--Six Sermons on the -Example of Our Lord. 3rd--Eight Addresses on the Seven Last Words. - -"A series of Sermons, all of which are admirable."--_Church Times._ - - - =The Highway of the Holy Cross=: By the Author of "The Six Maries." - 1s. 6d. net (postage 2d.). - -The Path of Self-Surrender, The Path of Sorrow, The Path of Prayer, The -Path of Service, The Path of Suffering, The Path of Hope. - - - BY THE SAME AUTHOR. - - =The Six Maries.= THIRD IMPRESSION. Foolscap 8vo, Cloth, 2s. net - (postage 2d.). - -This beautiful little book includes Six Devotional Readings, viz.: -Mary the Virgin--Mary of Bethany--Mary Magdalene--Mary the Wife of -Cleophas--Mary the Mother of James and Joses--Mary the Mother of Mark. - -"Tender, sympathetic and helpful."--_Church Family Newspaper._ - - - =The Message of the Guest Chamber=; or, The Last Words of Christ. By - the Rev. A. V. MAGEE, Vicar of St. Mark's, Hamilton Terrace. 2s. 6d. - net (postage 4d.). THIRD IMPRESSION. - -These beautiful Meditations on St. John, Chapters xiii and xiv, include -Fourteen Chapters which can be subdivided into Sections so as to -provide for their daily use during Lent. - - - =The Seven Parables of the Kingdom=: By the Very Rev. PROVOST H. - ERSKINE HILL. 2s. net (postage 2d.). SECOND IMPRESSION. - -These most attractive Sermons are especially suitable for Lent. They -include Sermons on the Parable of the Sower, The Tares, The Mustard -Seed, The Leaven, The Hidden Treasure, The Pearl of Great Price, The -Draw Net. - - - TEARS: By the Rev. J. H. FRY, M.A., Vicar of Osgathorpe. Foolscap 8vo, - cloth, 2s. net (postage 2d.). - -Ten Sermons for Lent and Easter Day: The Tears of the Penitent -Woman; of Esau; of St. Peter; of Jesus at the Grave of Lazarus, over -Jerusalem, in Gethsemane; of Mary Magdalene at the Sepulchre; No more -Tears, etc. - -"These Sermons possess the threefold merit of brevity, strength and -originality."--_Church Times._ - - - =The Chain of our Sins=: By the late Rev. J. B. C. MURPHY, M.A. FIFTH - IMPRESSION. 2s. 6d. net (postage 3d.). - -Nine Sermons for Lent, Good Friday, and Easter Day: The Chains of -Habit, of Selfishness, of Indifference, of Pride, of Intemperance, of -Worldliness, etc. The Bands of Love. - - - =The Parables of Redemption=: By the Very Rev. HENRY ERSKINE HILL, - M.A., Provost of the Cathedral, Aberdeen, Author of "The Seven - Parables of the Kingdom." Fcap. 8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d. net (postage 3d.). - -Thirteen Sermons for Lent and Easter, including Six on the Prodigal -Son, also The Lost Sheep--The Lost Coin--The Procession to Calvary--The -Three Crosses--The Resurrection--The Groups Round Jesus. - - - FIVE VOLUMES OF SERMONS TO MEN. - (SOLDIERS, SAILORS, BOYS, ETC.) - - =The Service of the King=: Addresses to Soldiers and Sailors. By A. - DEBENHAM. 2s. 6d. net (postage 2d.). - -The vivid and picturesque style of these stirring Addresses to Men will -at once arrest and keep the interest of their hearers. They include -Church Seasons, etc. - - - =Plain-Spoken Sermons=: Rev. J. B. C. MURPHY'S Sermons, originally - ADDRESSED TO SOLDIERS. FOURTH IMPRESSION. 6s. net (postage 4d.). - -Twenty-eight Sermons--Gambling; Manliness; Sorry Jesting; -Neighbourliness; Gossip, and so on. - -=The Church Review= says: "Some of these Sermons are simply -magnificent." - - - =Addresses to Men=: By the Rev. C. LL. IVENS, M.A., Hon. Canon of - Wakefield. THIRD IMPRESSION. Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. net (postage 3d.). - -They include such subjects as Courtesy--The Gambling -Spirit--Intemperance--"The Training of Character"--"Life and some of -its Meaning"--and similarly practical subjects. - -=Bishop Eden= says: "Canon Ivens' simple, outspoken and direct -addresses, are specimens of those which he is in the habit of giving -at his well-known Men's Services. They will be found valuable both -to young clergy who are learning how to address men, and to men of -all degrees who are trying to fight Christ's battles in a world of -increasingly subtle temptations." - - - =Our Ideals=: By the Rev. V. R. LENNARD. Price 3s. 6d. net (postage - 4d.). - -Sermons to Men, including Sermons on Instability, Cowardice, Profanity, -Ability, Concentration, Faith, Friendship, Manliness, Independence, -Ambition, etc., etc. - - - =Addresses to Boys and Boy Scouts=: By Right Rev. G. F. CECIL DE - CARTERET, Assistant Bishop of Jamaica. Price 2s. 6d. net (postage 3d.). - - - SKEFFINGTON'S SERMON LIBRARY. - Each Price 2s. 6d. net (postage 4d.). - -The whole Series of Twelve Volumes can be sent carriage paid through -any bookseller, or direct from the publishers, for 31s., and they -contain a complete and varied Library of some 400 Sermons, not only for -Sundays and Church Seasons, but for very many special occasions. - - 1.--=The Seed and the Soil.= By the late REV. J. B. C. - MURPHY.--Twenty-eight Plain Sermons, including Four for Advent, - Christmas Day, Six for Lent, Good Friday, Easter Day, etc. - - 2.--=Sermons to Children=; also =Bought with a Price=. By the late - REV. H. J. WILMOT-BUXTON, M.A. (Two vols. in one.) Twenty-three - Sermons to Children, including Advent, Lent, Good Friday, etc., etc. - "Bought with a Price" includes Nine Sermons from Ash Wednesday to - Easter. - - 3.--=Village Sermons.= By the late CANON R. B. D. RAWNSLEY. Third - Series. Plain Village Sermons, including Advent, Christmas, New Year, - Epiphany, Lent, Good Friday, Easter Day, and General Sermons. - - 4.--=Twenty-two Harvest Sermons by various Authors.= - - 5.--=Helps and Hindrances to the Christian Life.= By the late REV. - FRANCIS E. PAGET (2 vols). Vol. I. Thirty Plain Village Sermons, - including Four for Advent, Christmas, Last Sunday in the Year, - New Year, Epiphany, Septuagesima, Sexagesima, Quinquagesima, Ash - Wednesday, Six for Lent, Good Friday, Easter Day (2) etc., etc. - - 6.--=Helps and Hindrances to Christian Life.= Vol. II. Thirty-two - Plain Village Sermons, including Trinity Sunday, Trinity-tide, - Harvest, Friendly Society Schools, etc. - - 7.--=God's Heroes.= By the late REV. H. J. WILMOT-BUXTON, M.A. A - Series of Plain Sermons, including Advent, Lent, and many General - Sermons. - - 8.--=Mission Sermons.= (Second Series). By the late REV. H. J. - WILMOT-BUXTON, M.A. Contains Advent, Christmas, End of Year, Epiphany, - Lent, Good Friday, Easter, also Harvest, Autumn, and a large number of - General Sermons. - - 9.--=The Journey of the Soul.= By the late REV. J. B. C. MURPHY. - Thirty-four Plain Sermons, including Four for Advent, Christmas, Six - for Lent, Good Friday, Easter, Ascension Day, Whitsunday, Trinity - Sunday, Schools, and many General. - - 10.--=The Parson's Perplexity.= By the late REV. DR. W. J. HARDMAN. - Sixty short, suggestive Sermons for the hard-working and hurried, - including all the Sundays and chief Holy Days of the Christian Year. - - 11.--=The Lord's Song.= By the late REV. H. J. WILMOT-BUXTON, M.A. - Twenty-two Plain Sermons on the best known and most popular Hymns, - including Lent, Easter, Whitsuntide, etc.; also Children's Services. - - 12.--=Sunday Sermonettes for a Year.= By the late REV. H. J. - WILMOT-BUXTON, M.A. Fifty-seven Short Sermons for the Church Year. - - - ADDRESSES ON THE SEVEN LAST WORDS. - LEAFLET FOR DISTRIBUTION BEFORE GOOD FRIDAY. - - =An Invitation to the Three Hours' Service=: ½d., or 2s. 6d. net. - per 100 (postage 4d.). 150th Thousand. - -This excellent four-page leaflet is intended for wide distribution in -Church and Parish before Good Friday. - - - =A Form of Service for the Three Hours=: By the Right REV. C. J. - RIDGEWAY, Bishop of Chichester. ½d., or 4s. net per 100 (postage - 5d.). - -Prayers, Hymns, Versicles, etc., for the use of the Congregation. 360th -Thousand. - - - =Devotions for the Good Friday Three Hours' Service=: ½d., or 4s. - net per 100 (postage 4d.). - -In connection with addresses on The Seven Last Words, Versicles, -Prayers, Suggested Hymns, etc., for the use of the Congregation at the -Service. - - - =The Mind of Christ Crucified=: By the Rev. H. CONGREVE HORNE. Crown - 8vo. cloth, 2s. 6d. net (postage 3d.). - -A consideration of _The Seven Last Words_, and their special -significance in time of War. These beautiful Addresses will be -invaluable during the coming Lent and Holy Week. - - - =Meditations on the Seven Last Words=: By the Right Rev. C. J. - RIDGEWAY, Bishop of Chichester. FOURTH IMPRESSION. Fcap. 8vo, 2s. net - (postage 2d.). - -A Set of Addresses for the Three Hours' Service, with Complete Forms of -Service, Prayers, Hymns, Versicles, etc. - - - =Seven Times He Spake=: By the Rev. H. LILIENTHAL. Author of "Some - Actors in Our Lord's Passion," "Sundays and Seasons." 2s. net (postage - 2d.). SECOND IMPRESSION. - -A Set of Addresses on the Seven Last Words. These powerful and original -Addresses will indeed be welcomed by those who know the Author's -previous book, "Some Actors in Our Lord's Passion." - - - =The Seven Last Words from the Cross=: By the late REV. CANON WATSON. - 2s. 6d. net (postage 3d.). SECOND IMPRESSION. - -A Striking Course of Meditations for Lent, Holy Week, or Good Friday. - -"These sermons contain suggestive thoughts, many noble and -heart-searching utterances. =The Fourth and Sixth Meditations are -most striking--the latter part of the first is very terrible and -heart-searching.="--_The Guardian._ - - - =The Spiritual Life in the Seven Last Words=: By the REV. DR. A. G. - MORTIMER. 2s. net (postage 2d.). - -A Set of simple Addresses for Lent, and The Three Hours' Service, on -The Words from the Cross. - -"These plain sermons are very admirable."--_Churchwoman._ - - - =The Seven Last Words=: By the Rev. S. BARING-GOULD. 2s. 6d. net - (postage 3d.). EIGHTH IMPRESSION. - -Seven Plain Sermons for the Sundays in Lent, The Days of Holy Week, or -for Good Friday. - -"Vigorous, forcible, with illustrations plentifully but freely and -wisely introduced."--_Church Times._ - - - =The Seven Words from the Cross=: By the Rev. H. E. BURDER, Vicar of - St. Oswald, Chester. Fcap. 8vo, cloth, 1s. 6d. net (postage 2d.). - -An eminently practical set of simple Addresses on the Seven Words. - -"Preachers may find some freshening thought in this little -volume."--_Church Times._ - - - =The Longer Lent=: By the Rev. VIVIAN R. LENNARD, M.A., 3s. 6d. net - (postage 4d.). - -Fourteen Addresses from Septuagesima to Easter, including two for -Easter Day and one for St. Matthias. - - - BY THE SAME AUTHOR. - - =Passiontide and Easter=: Thirteen Addresses, including Palm Sunday, - Holy Week, Good Friday, Eastertide and Low Sunday. Crown 8vo, cloth, - 2s. 6d. net (postage 3d.). - -"They are simple, direct, helpful."--_The Church Family Newspaper._ - -"Plain, but practical and vigorously expressed, they are to be -commended."--_The National Church._ - - - "=One Hour=" (St. Matt. xxvi. 40). A SHORT SERVICE FOR GOOD FRIDAY, - with Hymns, Versicles, Psalm and Prayers, complete for the use of the - Congregation. ½d., or 2s. 6d. net per 100 (postage 4d.). - -This Service, when a Short Address is given, will occupy ONE HOUR, and -may be used as an alternative to the Three Hours' Service where the -latter for various reasons cannot be adopted. Or it will form an early -or late service _in addition_ to that of the Three Hours', for those -who are unable to attend the longer Office. FOR GOOD FRIDAY. - - - =Good Friday Addresses=: By DR. C. J. RIDGEWAY, Bishop of Chichester; - THE VERY REV. PROVOST HENRY ERSKINE HILL; the REV. CANON C. LL. IVENS, - and the REV. C. E. NEWMAN. Crown 8vo, cloth, 2s. net (postage 2d.). - -These Four Short Addresses are specially written either for use with -the above Service, or at any other Good Friday Service; two of them -include very brief, but complete Meditations on the Seven Last Words, -and will be invaluable for Holy Week and Good Friday. - - - =Easter Offerings.= To Help the Clergy. By DR. C. J. RIDGEWAY, Bishop - of Chichester. ½d.; 2s. net per 100 (postage 4d.). - -A Four-page Leaflet clearly explaining their character, antiquity, -authority, value and duty; to be placed in the seats before Easter. -Commended to Churchwardens and Clergy by the ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY. - - - TWO NEW CHEAP EDITIONS. - - =1. The Old Road=: By Rev. H. J. WILMOT-BUXTON. Originally 5s. each. - Now 3s. 6d. net each (postage 4d.). SECOND IMPRESSION. - -Thirty Plain Sermons, including Six for Lent--Good -Friday--Easter--Whitsuntide--and many General Sermons. - -"Any congregation would welcome them.... We have read them with -interest, and the conviction that their power lies in their plain -outspokenness."--_Church of Ireland Gazette._ - - =2. Stories and Teaching on the Mattins and Evensong=: By DR. J. W. - HARDMAN. 3s. 6d. net (postage 4d.). - -A book to make those Services plain to the old and interesting to -the young. This book contains an enormous amount of material for the -Preacher, the Teacher, and the Catechist. - -"It teems with a rich fund of pithy and pointed illustrations and -anecdotes."--_National Church._ - -"A capital book for Catechists."--_Church Times._ - - - =Village Preaching for a Year=: Sermons by the Rev. S. BARING-GOULD. - First Series. Sixty-five specially written Short Sermons for all the - Sundays and Chief Holy Days of the Christian Year, Missions, Schools, - Harvest, Club, etc., with a supplement of Twenty Sermon Sketches. - TENTH EDITION. 2 vols. Fcap. 8vo, 12s. net (postage 6d.). - - VOL. I., separately, Advent to Whit-Sunday, Fcap. 8vo, 6s. net - (postage 4d.). - - VOL. II., separately, Trinity to Advent, Miscellaneous, also Twenty - Sermon Sketches, Fcap. 8vo, 6s. net (postage 4d.). - - - =Homely Words for Life's Wayfarers=: By the late J. B. C. MURPHY. - SEVENTH IMPRESSION. Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. 6d. net (postage 3d.). - -Twenty-five Plain Sermons, including Advent, Christmas Day, End of the -Year, Epiphany, Ash Wednesday, Lent, Good Friday, Ascension Day, Whit -Sunday, All Saints' Day, Hospital Sunday, etc. - - - =Words by the Way=: A Year's Sermons by the late H. J. WILMOT-BUXTON. - Crown 8vo, cloth, 4s. 6d. net (postage 5d.). - -Fifty-seven Short Plain Sermons for the whole Christian year. Only one -edition of these most excellent Sermons has ever been published. It is -one of the very best of all Mr. Buxton's Volumes of Sermons and will be -found of real practical value for the whole year. The original edition -was published at 6s. - - - FOR THE EASTER OR FIRST COMMUNION. - - =Short Preparation Service for Holy Communion=: H. C. Manuals by DR. - C. J. RIDGEWAY, Bishop of Chichester. SIXTH IMPRESSION. 2d., or 14s. - net per 100 (postage 5d.). - -To be used in Church after Evensong on Sunday, or at other convenient -times. - - - =Easter Communion.= A four-page Leaflet. 1200th thousand. For - Distribution in Church or Parish, before any of the great Church - Festivals. ½d., or 3s. 6d. net per 100 (postage 4d.). - -Tastefully printed in red and black: Why shall I come?--What -is H.C.?--What are the Benefits?--In what spirit?--How shall I -Prepare?--When shall I come?--How live afterwards? etc. - - - =Instructions and Devotions for Holy Communion=; which includes - the Two Tracts, "How to Prepare" and "How to Give Thanks," with - extra Instructions and Devotions, also the Complete Office for Holy - Communion. 120th thousand. 24mo, cloth boards, 1s. 9d. net (postage - 2d.). Cloth limp, 1s. 3d. (postage 1d.). Crimson roan, round corners, - and gold over red edges, 3s. net (postage 2d.). - - =N.B.--How to Prepare for the Holy Communion.= Separately, 2d., or - 14s. net per 100 (postage 5d.). - - =How to Give Thanks after Holy Communion.= Separately, 2d., or 14s. - net per 100 (postage 5d.). - - =The late Bishop Walsham How= wrote: "Mr. Ridgeway's little manuals - will, I think, be found very generally and practically useful. They - are thoroughly sensible and excellent for their purpose." - - - =Holy Communion.= "How to Prepare," and "How to Give Thanks." Printed - in red and chocolate, on toned paper. Warmly commended by the late - Bishop Walsham How. It forms a beautiful little Confirmation Gift - Book, in Prayer Book size, bound in elegant cloth, lettered in gold. - In red silk cloth for boys, or white silk cloth for girls. 24mo, price - 1s. net. These two tracts may also be had separately, 2d. each, or - 14s. per 100 (postage 6d.). - -The following letter appeared in the _Church Times_: "Sir,--I have been -29 years Vicar of this large agricultural parish, and all the time I -have been in vain looking out for plain simple manuals for the Holy -Communion, suitable to the capacities of an agricultural population, -and have never been able to meet with any till now. I put into the -hands of my Candidates for Confirmation Ridgeway's Manual 'How to -Prepare for the Holy Communion,' with the satisfactory result that -every one of them came to the early Communion yesterday. I could never -before succeed in getting all the confirmed to communicate immediately -after Confirmation."--F. H. CHOPE, _Vicar, Hartland Vicarage, N. Devon_. - - - =Church Going.= A four-page Leaflet. 160th thousand. ½d., or 3s. 6d. - net per 100 (postage 4d.). - -Why?--When?--In what spirit should I go?--What shall I do there?--What -good shall I get?--Why do people stay away? etc. A most practical and -persuasive little Tract. - - - CONFIRMATION LIST. - - =Four Manuals= by the Right Rev. C. J. RIDGEWAY, D.D., Bishop of - Chichester. 405th THOUSAND. ½d., or 3s. 6d. net per 100 (postage - 4d.). - - 1.--=Confirmation.= A four-page Leaflet, printed on toned paper in red - and black, forming a companion to the same author's leaflet, "Easter - Communion." Confirmation: What is it?--Its Nature--What does God - do?--What does man do?--Why should I be Confirmed?--At what age?--How - shall I prepare?--What good will it do? For distribution in Church and - Parish before a Confirmation. - - 2.--=How to Prepare for Confirmation.= TWENTY-SEVENTH THOUSAND. Fcap. - 8vo, 2s. 6d. net (postage 2d.). A course of Preparatory Instructions - for Candidates, in Eight Plain Addresses, each followed by a few Plain - Questions. The Questions with suggested Prayers separately, 2d., or - 14s. net per 100 (postage 6d.). - - "Will be an invaluable help to the Clergy, who, in these days of - high pressure, have little time for preparation. The questions are - reprinted separately, so that each Paper may be easily detached and - given to the Candidate after each instruction."--_Church Times._ - - 3.--=Confirmation Questions= (=Plain=). SEVENTIETH THOUSAND. Sewn, - 2d., or 14s. net per 100 (postage 6d.). In Eight Papers, with - Suggested Prayers; taken from the same Author's book, "How to Prepare - for Confirmation." - - 4.--="My Confirmation Day," at Home and in Church=: including the - Confirmation Service itself, with Prayers, Thoughts, and Hymns for - use during the entire day, that is, morning and evening at Home, and - during the Service at Church. EIGHTIETH THOUSAND. A little gift for - Confirmation Candidates of a most helpful and valuable kind. 3d. net, - 48 pages. Also an Edition, elegantly bound in cloth, with the Hymns - printed in full, price 6d. net (postage 1d.). - - - =Catechism on Confirmation=: By the Rev. J. LESLIE, M.A., Incumbent - of St. James', Muthill. ELEVENTH IMPRESSION. 2d., or 14s. net per 100 - (postage 4d.). - -Twelfth Edition of these admirably simple Confirmation Questions. - - - =Plain Instructions and Questions for Confirmation Candidates=: By - Rev. SPENCER JONES, Author of "Our Lord and His Lessons." In Seven - Papers. A set of absolutely simple Confirmation Papers. For VILLAGE - CANDIDATES. 1-½d., or 10s. net per 100 (postage 6d.). - - - =Thoughts for Confirmation Day=: By the late Hon. and REV. W. H. - LYTTELTON, M.A. NINETIETH THOUSAND. Sewn, 2d., or 14s. net per 100 - (postage 5d.). - -Adapted to the use of Candidates in Church during the intervals of the -Service on the day of Confirmation. Printed on thick-toned paper, with -blank space on outside page for Candidate's Name, Date of Confirmation, -etc. - - - CONFIRMATION GIFTS AND CERTIFICATES. - - "=I Will.=" "=I Do.=" By the late Rev. EDMUND FOWLE. The Rev. EDMUND - FOWLE'S most successful Confirmation Memento, of which more than - 80,000 copies have been sold, and which has been so highly commended - by many of the Bishops and Clergy. Stitched up in an elegant Cloth - Pocket Case, 9d. net. - -=Bishop King of Lincoln wrote=:--"I beg to thank you for your very -pretty-looking gift." - -=Rev. W. Muscroft, Thorner Vicarage Leeds, writes=:--"I am very much -obliged to you for the beautiful little Confirmation Memento. I don't -remember ever seeing anything of the kind that I admire so much." - - - =Confirmation Triptych.= 122nd thousand, 1d., or 7s. net 100 (postage - 6d.). - -A small folding Triptych Certificate Card, with blank spaces for Name -and Date, etc., of Confirmation and First Communion; elegantly printed -in mauve and red with Oxford lines, with appropriate verses and texts, -and special design of the Good Shepherd, on the reverse side, with the -words of the Bishop's Confirmation Prayer. This card is perhaps the -very best of the many Certificate Forms. - -"One of the best we have seen."--_Church Times._ - - - =Boys=: Their Work and Influence. Twelfth thousand. Bound in Elegant - cloth, 1s. net (postage 1d.). - -Specially suitable for Parochial -Distribution. Home and School--Going to -Work--Religion--Courage--Money--Amusements--Self-Improvement--Chums ---Courtship--Husbands, etc. - - - =Girls=: Their Work and Influence. Fifteenth thousand. Bound in - elegant cloth, 1s. net (postage 1d.). - -Specially suitable for Parochial Distribution. Home and School--The -Teens--Religion--Refinement--Dress--Amusement--Relations--Friendship--Youth -and Maiden--Service and Work--Courtship--Wives, etc. - -"There is so much that is sensible and instructive in these two -little works that we are glad to have the opportunity of cordially -recommending them. The manly, thoroughly practical tone of the advice -given to boys and the womanly unaffected remarks offered to the girls -can but find a welcome acceptance."--_Church Times._ - - - =A Little Book to Help Boys during School Life=: By the late REV. - EDMUND FOWLE. TWELFTH THOUSAND. Cloth, 1s. 3d. net (postage 1d.). - -This most useful and original little book is intended as a gift from -parents or friends to Boys. - -=The late Bishop Walsham How wrote=:--"Your little book is excellent. -I have already ordered a number to keep by me for presents to boys." -=Bishop Hole wrote=:--"Your little book seems excellent and is much -wanted." - - - =The Girl's Little Book=: By CHARLOTTE M. YONGE. ELEVENTH IMPRESSION. - Elegant cloth, 1s. 3d. net (postage 1d.). - -A Book of Help and Counsel for Everyday Life at Home or School. This -charming little volume forms a capital gift from the Parish Priest or -from parents or god-parents. - -=The Athenæum says=:--"A nice little volume full of good sense and real -feeling." - -=The Lady says=:--"Just the sort of little book to be taken up and -referred to in little matters of doubt and difficulty, for the advice -it contains is good, sensible, kindly, and Christian." - - -_Books in this List can only be posted on receipt of remittance. Books -are not sent on approval._ - - -London: SKEFFINGTON & SON, LTD., 34, Southampton St., Strand, W.C.2, -AND OF ALL BOOKSELLERS. - -Transcriber's Notes - - Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected and - variations in accents and hyphenation standardised. Other variations - in spelling and punctuation are as in the original. - - Chapter IX - The sentence "Then came a large dish of beans; we ate beans. We were - sending out wireless messages by this, but no relief ship appeared on - the horizon." appears to be missing a word after "this" (possibly time) - but has been left as printed. - - Repetition of the title on the first page has been removed. - - Italics are represented thus _italics_, bold thus =bold= and underline - thus +underline+. - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Round about Bar-le-Duc, by Susanne R. 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Day - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Round about Bar-le-Duc - -Author: Susanne R. Day - -Release Date: September 28, 2015 [EBook #50071] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROUND ABOUT BAR-LE-DUC *** - - - - -Produced by Shaun Pinder, Les Galloway and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class="bbox"> -<h1>ROUND ABOUT<br /> -BAR-LE-DUC</h1> - -<p class="center space-above"><small>BY</small><br /> - -SUSANNE R. DAY<br /> -<span class="xs">AUTHOR OF "THE AMAZING PHILANTHROPISTS," ETC.</span></p> - -<p class="center space-above"><i lang="fr"><b><small>London</small></b></i><br /> -SKEFFINGTON & SON, LTD.<br /> -<small>34 SOUTHAMPTON STREET, STRAND, W.C. 2</small><br /> -<span class="xs">PUBLISHERS TO HIS MAJESTY THE KING</span> -</p> -</div> - - - -<p class="center"> -<small>TO</small></p> - -<p class="center">CAROL</p> - -<p class="center"><small>FOR WHOSE EYES</small></p> -<p class="center"><small>THIS BOOK WAS WRITTEN</small></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</a></span></p> - - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="PREFACE" id="PREFACE">PREFACE</a></h2> -</div> - -<p class="center">TO CAROL</p> - -<p>Dear, you asked me to write for you the story of -my work and adventures in France, and through all -the agonising hours of incubation and parturition you -have given me your unfailing sympathy, encouragement -and help. You have even chastened me (it was a -devastating hour!) for my—and, I believe, for the -book's—good, and when we discovered that the original -form—that of intimate personal letters written directly -to you—did not suit the subject matter, you acquiesced -generously in a change, the need for which I, at least, -shall ever deplore.</p> -<p> -And now that the last words have been written and -Finis lies upon the page, I know how short it all falls -of my ideal and how unworthy it is of your high hope -of me. And yet I dare to offer it to you, knowing -that what is good in it is yours, deep delver that you -are for the gold that lies—somewhere—in every human -heart.</p> - -<p>Twenty months in the war zone ought, one would -imagine, to have provided me with countless hair-breadth -escapes, thrills, and perhaps even shockers -with which to regale you, but the adventures are all -those of other people, an occasional flight to a cellar in -a raid being all we could claim of danger. And so,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[Pg viii]</a></span> -instead of being a book about English women in France, -it is mainly a book about French women in their own -country, and therein lies its chief, if not its only claim -to merit.</p> - -<p>Humanness was the quality which above all others -you asked for, and if it possesses that I shall know it -has not been written in vain.</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Susanne R. Day.</span> </p> - -<p><small><i lang="fr">London,<br /> -January 1918.</i></small> -</p> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[Pg ix]</a></span></p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS</a></h2> -</div> - -<div class="center"> -<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> -<tr><td align="right"><small>CHAP</small>.</td><td align="right"> </td><td align="right"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> -<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">I</a>.</td><td align="left">MAINLY INTRODUCTORY</td><td align="right">11</td></tr> -<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">II</a>.</td><td align="left">EN ROUTE--SERMAIZE-LES-BAINS</td><td align="right">16</td></tr> -<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">III</a>.</td><td align="left">FIRST IMPRESSIONS</td><td align="right">29</td></tr> -<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">IV</a>.</td><td align="left">À TRAVERS BAR-LE-DUC</td><td align="right">47</td></tr> -<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">V</a>.</td><td align="left">SETTLING IN</td><td align="right">61</td></tr> -<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">VI</a>.</td><td align="left">THE BASKET-MAKERS OF VAUX-LES-PALAMIES</td><td align="right">73</td></tr> -<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">VII</a>.</td><td align="left">IN WHICH WE PLAY TRUANT</td><td align="right">87</td></tr> -<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">VIII</a>.</td><td align="left">THE MODERN CALVARY</td><td align="right">107</td></tr> -<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">IX</a>.</td><td align="left">IN WHICH WE BECOME EMISSARIES OF LE BON DIEU</td><td align="right">125</td></tr> -<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">X</a>.</td><td align="left">PRIESTS AND PEOPLE</td><td align="right">136</td></tr> -<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">XI</a>.</td><td align="left">REPATRIÉES</td><td align="right">160</td></tr> -<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">XII</a>.</td><td align="left">STORM-WRACK FROM VERDUN</td><td align="right">179</td></tr> -<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">XIII</a>.</td><td align="left">MORE STORM-WRACK</td><td align="right">198</td></tr> -<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">XIV</a>.</td><td align="left">AIR RAIDS</td><td align="right">207</td></tr> -<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">XV</a>.</td><td align="left">M. LE POILU</td><td align="right">223</td></tr> -<tr><td></td><td align="left"><a href="#ENVOI">ENVOI</a></td><td align="right">255</td></tr> -</table></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[Pg x]</a></span></p> - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="ROUND_ABOUT_BAR-LE-DUC" id="ROUND_ABOUT_BAR-LE-DUC">ROUND ABOUT BAR-LE-DUC</a></h2> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I</a></h2> -</div> -<p class="center">MAINLY INTRODUCTORY</p> - - -<p>Relief Work in the War Zone. It did sound -exciting. No wonder I volunteered, but, oh dear! -great was the plenitude of my ignorance. I vaguely -understood that we were to distribute clothes and -rabbits, kitchen utensils, guano and other delectable -necessaries to a stricken people, but not that we were -to wear a uniform and that the uniform would be made -"by post." If I had there might never have been a -chapter to write nor a tale to tell.</p> - -<p>That uniform!—shall I ever forget it? Or the figure -I cut when I put it on? Of course, like any sensible -female woman, I wanted to have it made by my own -tailor and in my own way. Strict adherence to the -general scheme, of course, with reasonable modification -to suit the individual. But Authority said NO. -Only by one man and in one place could that uniform -be made. Frankly sceptical at first, I am now a devout -believer. For it was certainly unique; perhaps in -strict truth I ought to say that several specimens of -it were unique. There was one—but this is a modest -tale told by a modest woman. Stifle curiosity, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> -be content with knowing that the less cannot contain -the greater. And then let us go hence and ponder -upon the sweet reasonableness of man, or at least of -one man who, when asked to produce the uniform hats, -replied, "But what for, Madam?"</p> - -<p>"Well, to try on, of course."</p> - -<p>"Try on? Why ever should you want to do that?"</p> - -<p>Perhaps you won't believe this? But it is true.</p> - -<p>Oh, the agonies of those last days of preparation, -and the heartrending impossibility of getting any -really useful or practical information about an outfit!</p> - -<p>"Wear pyjamas, a mess-tin, and a water-bottle. -And of course you must have a sleeping-bag and a -bath."</p> - -<p>This was at least encouraging. Were we going to -sleep <i lang="fr">à la belle étoile</i>, a heap of stones our pillow, our -roof the sky? You can imagine how I thrilled. But -there was the bath. Even in France.... I relinquished -the stars with a sigh and realised that Authority -was talking learnedly about the uniform, talking swiftly, -confidently, assuredly, and as I listened conviction grew -that once arrayed in it every difficulty and danger -would melt away, and the French nation prostrate -itself before my blushing feet in one concentrated -desire to pay homage and assist. One danger certainly -melted away, but, alas! it took Romance with it. -As a moral life-belt that uniform has never been -equalled.</p> - -<p>And then there was the kit-bag. Ye gods, I <span class="smcap">KNOW</span> -that villainous thing was possessed of the devil. From -the day I found it, lying a discouraged heap upon my -bedroom floor, to the day when it tucked itself on board -ship in direct defiance of my orders and invited the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> -Germans to come and torpedo it—which they promptly -did—it never ceased to annoy. It lost its key in Paris, -and on arrival at Sermaize declined to allow itself to -be opened. It was dumped in my "bedroom" (of -which more later), the lock was forced, Sermaize -settled itself to slumber. I proceeded to unpack, -plunged in a hand and drew forth—a pair of blue serge -trousers.</p> - -<p>Wild yells for help brought Sermaize to my door. -What the owner of the trousers thought when his -broken-locked bag was flung back upon him, history -does not relate. He had opened what he thought was -<span class="smcap">HIS</span> bag, so possibly he was beyond speech. He was -a shy young man and he had never been in France -before.</p> - -<p>If the thing—the bag, I mean, not the shy young man—had -been pretty or artistic one might have forgiven -it all its sins. Iniquity should always be beautiful. -But that bag was plain, <i lang="fr">mais d'une laideur effroyable</i>. -Just for all the world like a monstrous obscene sausage, -green with putrefaction and decay. What I said when -I tried to pack is not fit for a young and modest ear. -I planted it on its hind legs, seized a pair of boots, -tried to immure them in its depths, slipped and fell -into it head foremost. It was then the devil chuckled. -I heard him. He had been waiting, you see—he -knew.</p> - -<p>It is some consolation that a certain not-to-be-named -friend was not on the hotel steps as I stole forth that -torrid June morning. Every imp of the thousand that -possess her would have danced with glee. How she -would have laughed: for there I was, the not-to-be-tried-on-uniform-hat, -a grotesque little inverted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> -pudding-bowl of a thing, perched like a fungoid growth -on the top of my head, the uniform itself hanging blanket-like -about my shrinking form (it was heavy enough for -the arctic regions), a water-bottle which had refused -point-blank to go into the kit-bag hanging over one -shoulder, and a bulging brown knapsack jutting -blasphemously from my back. What a vision! Tartarin -of Tarascon climbing the Alps with an ironmonger's -shop on his back fades ignominiously in -comparison. But then I wasn't just climbing commonplace -tourist-haunted Alps. I was going "to the -Front." At least, so my family said when making -pointed and highly encouraging remarks about my will. -That the "Front" in question was twenty miles from -a trench was a mere detail. Why go to the War Zone -if you don't swagger? I swaggered. Not much, -you know—just the faintest æsthetic suspicion of a -swagger, and then.... Then Nemesis fell—fell as -I passed a mirror, and saw.... I crawled on all -fours into France.</p> - -<p>I crawled on all fours into Paris. Think of it, -<span class="smcap">Paris</span>! No wonder French women murmured, "Mais, -Mademoiselle, vous êtes très devouée." I am a modest -woman (I have mentioned this before, but it bears -repetition), but whenever I thought of that uniform I -believed them.</p> - -<p>If Paris had not been at war she would probably have -arrested me at the Douane, and I should have deserved -it. Fancy insulting her by wearing such clothes, and -on such a night—a clear, purple, perfect summer night, -when she lay like a fairy city caught in the silvery nets -of the moon. And yet there was a strange, ominous -hush over it all. The city lying quiet and, oh, so still!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> -It seemed to be waiting, waiting, a cup from which the -wine had been poured upon the red floor of war.</p> - -<p>Wandering along the deserted quays, wondering -what the morrow would bring.... What a night -that was, the sheer exquisite beauty of it! The -Conciergerie dark against the sky, the gleaming path of -the river, and then the Louvre and the Tuileries all -hushed to languorous, passionate beauty in the arms of -the moon.</p> - -<p>Don't you love Paris, every stone of her? I do. -But I was not allowed to stay there. Inexorable Fate -sent me the next morning in a taxi and a state of -excusable excitement to the Gare de l'Est, where, -kit-bag, mess-tin, water-bottle and all, I was immured -in the Paris-Nancy express and borne away through a -morning of glittering sunshine to Vitry-le-François, -there to be deposited upon the platform and in the -arms of a grey-coated and becomingly-expectant -young man.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span></p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II</a></h2> -</div> -<p class="center">EN ROUTE—SERMAIZE-LES-BAINS</p> - - -<p class="center">I</p> - -<p>Like Bartley Fallon of immortal memory, "if -there's any ill luck at all in the world, 'tis on meself -it falls." Needless to say, I was not allowed to remain -in the arms of that nice young man; and indeed, to give -him his due, he showed no overwhelming desire to keep -me there. The embodiment of all Quakerly propriety, -he conducted me with befitting ceremony to the station -just as the sun began to drop down the long hills of -the sky, and sent me forth once more, this time with -a ticket for Sermaize-les-Bains in my pocket. My -proverbial luck held good—that is to say, bad. The -train was an <span class="smcap">Omnibus</span>. Do you know what that -means? No? Then I shall tell you. It is the -philosopher of locomotion, the last thing in, the final -triumph of, thoughtful, leisurely progression. Its -phlegm is sheerly imperturbable, its serenity of that -large-souled order which cataclysms cannot ruffle nor -revolutions disturb. A destination? It shrugs its -shoulder. Yes, somewhere, across illimitable continents, -across incalculable æons of time. The world -is beautiful, haste the expression of a vulgar age. To -travel hopefully is to arrive. It hopes. Eventually, -if God is good, it arrives.</p> - -<p>And so did we, after long consultative visits to small<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> -wayside stations, and after much meditative meandering -through sunset-coloured lands. Arrived—ah, can -you wonder at it?—with just a little catch in our -throats and a shamed mistiness of vision, for had we -not seen, there in that little clump of undergrowth outside -the wood, a lonely cross, fenced with a rustic paling, -an old red mouldering <i lang="fr">képi</i> hanging on the point? -And then in the field another ... and again another<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">... mute, pitiful, inspiring witnesses of the grim</span><br /> -tragedy of war.</p> - -<p>And then came Sermaize, once a thriving little town, -a thing of streets and <span class="smcap">HOMES</span>, of warm firelit rooms -where the great game of Life was played out day by -day, where the stakes were Love and Laughter, and -Success and Failure and Death, where men and women -met, it might be on such a night as this—a night to -dream in and to love, a night when the slow pulse of -the Eternal Sea beat quietly upon the ear—met to tell -the age-old story while the world itself stood still to -listen, and out of the silence enchantment grew, and -old standards and old values passed away and a new -Heaven and a new Earth were born.</p> - -<p>Once a thing of streets and homes! Ah, there lies -the real tragedy of the ruined village. Bricks and -mortar? Yes. You may tell the tale to the last -ultimate sou if you will, count it all up, mark it all -down in francs and centimes, tell me that here in one -brief hour the Germans did so much damage, destroyed -so many thousand pounds worth of property, ground -such and such an ancient monument to useless powder, -but who can count the cost, or appraise the value of -the things which no money can buy, that only human -lives can pay for?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span></p> - -<p>One ruined village is exactly like every other ruined -village you may say with absolute truth, and yet be -wrong. A freak of successful destruction here, a fantastic -failure there, may give a touch of individuality, -even a hint of the grotesque. That tall chimney, how -oddly it leans against the sky. That archway standing -when everything about it is rubble and dust. That -bit of twisted iron-work, writhing like an uncouth -monster, that stairway climbing ridiculously into -space. Yes, they are all alike, these villages, and all -heartrendingly different. For each has its hidden -story of broken lives to tell, of human hopes and human -ambitions dashed remorselessly to earth, of human -friendships severed, of human loves torn and bleeding, -trampled under the red heel of war. Lying there in -the moonlight, Sermaize possessed an awful dignity. In -life it may have been sordid and commonplace, in death, -wrapped in the silver shroud of the moon, it was sublime.</p> - -<p>As we passed through the broken piles of masonry -and brick-and iron-work every inch of the road throbbed -with its history, the ruins became infused with life -and—was it phantasy? a trick of the night? of the -dream-compelling moon?—out of the dark shadows -came the phantoms of men and women and little -children, their eyes wide with fear and longing, their -empty hands outstretched....</p> - -<p>Home! They cried the word aloud, and the night -was filled with their crying.</p> - -<p>And so we passed. Looking back now, I think the -dominant emotion of the moment was one of rage, -of blind, impotent, ravening fury against the senseless -cruelty that could be guilty of such a thing. For the -destruction of Sermaize-les-Bains was not a grim<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> -necessity of war. It was a sacrifice to the pride of the -All-Highest.</p> - -<p>In a heat that was sheerly tropical the battle had -raged to and fro. The Grande Place had been torn -to atoms by the long-range German guns, then came -hand-to-hand fighting in the streets, and the Germans -in possession. The inhabitants, terrified, for the most -part fled to the woods. Some remained, but among -them unfortunately not the Mayor. He had gone -away early in the morning. He was, perhaps, a simple-minded -person. He cannot have realised how inestimable -a privilege it is to receive a German Commandant -in the "Town Hall" he has just blown to infinitesimal -fragments. It may even be—though it is difficult to -believe it—that, conscious of the privilege, he yet dared -to despise it. Whatever the reason the fact remains—he -was not there. What an insult to German pride, -what a blow to German prestige! No wonder the -Commandant strode into the street and in a voice -trembling with righteous indignation gave the order, -"Pillage and Fire."</p> - -<p>Oh, it was a merry game that, and played to a -magnificent finish. The houses were stripped as human -ghouls stripped the dead upon Napoleonic battlefields; -glass, china, furniture, pictures, silver, heirlooms -cherished through many a generation, it was a glorious -harvest, and what was not worth the gleaning was -piled into heaps and burned.</p> - -<p>There are certain pastilles, innocent-looking things -like a man's coat button, round and black, with a hole -in the middle. They say the German army came into -France with strings of them round their necks, for in -the German army every contingency is provided for,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> -every destructive device supplied even to the last -least ultimate detail. Its organisers take no risks. -They never throw the dice with Chance. Luck? -They don't believe in luck. They believe in efficiency -and careful scientific preparation, in clean-cut work, -with no tags or loose ends of humanity hanging from -it. The human equation is merely a cog upon the -machine, and yet it is the one that is going to destroy -them in the end.</p> - -<p>So they brought their pastilles into France just as -they brought their expert packers to ensure the safe -transit into Germany of all perishable loot. And if -ever you see some of those pastilles framed at Selfridge's -and ask yourself if they could really be effective—they -are so small, so very harmless-looking—remember -Sermaize and the waste of charred rubbish lying -desolate under the moon. Some one—I think Maurice -Genevoix, in <i lang="fr">Sous Verdun</i>—tells how, in the early -days of war, French soldiers were sometimes horrified -to see a bullet-stricken German suddenly catch fire, -become a living torch, blazing, terrible. At first they -were quite unable to account for it. You see, they -didn't know about the pastilles then. Later, when -they did, they understood. I was told in Sermaize -that a German aeroplane, flying low over the roofs, -sprayed them with petrol that day. If true, it was -quite an unnecessary waste of valuable material. -The pastilles were more than equal to the occasion. -But so was the French hotel-keeper who, coming back -when the Germans had commenced their long march -home, and finding his house in desiccated fragments, -promptly put up a rough wooden shelter, and hung out -his sign-board, "Café des Ruines!"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="center">II</p> - -<p>No one should go to Sermaize without paying a visit -to M. le Curé. He stayed with his people till his home -was tumbling about his ears, and even then he hung on, -in the cellar. Driven out by fire, he collected such -fugitives as were at hand and helped them through -the woods to a place of safety. Of the events and -incidents of that flight, of the dramatic episodes of -the bombardment and subsequent fighting—there was -a story of a French officer, for instance, who came -tumbling into the cellar demanding food and drink -in the midst of all the hell, and who devoured both, -M. le Curé confessing that his own appetite at the -moment was not quite up to its usual form, howitzer -shells being a poor substitute for, shall we say, a gin-and-bitters?—it -is not for me to speak. He has told -the tale himself elsewhere, and if in the telling he has -been half as witty, as epigrammatic, as vivid and as -humorous as he was when he lectured in the Common-room -at Sermaize, then all I can say is, buy the book -even if you have to pawn your last pair of boots to -find the money for it.</p> - -<p>A rare type, M. le Curé. An intellectual, once the -owner and lover (the terms are, unhappily, not always -synonymous) of a fine library, now in ashes, a man who -could be generous even to an ungenerous foe, and remind -an audience—one member, at least, of which was no -Pacifist—that according to the German code the Mayor -should have remained in the town, and that he, M. le -Curé, had been able to collect no evidence of cruelty to, -or outrage upon, an individual.</p> - -<p>That lecture is one of the things that will live in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> -my memory. For the Curé was not possessed of a -library of some two thousand volumes for nothing, -and whatever his Bishop's opinion may be on the -subject, I take leave to believe that Anatole France, -De Maupassant, Verlaine and Baudelaire jostled many -a horrified divine upon the shelves. For his style was -what a sound knowledge of French literature had made -it. He could dare to be improper—oh, so deliciously, -subtly improper! A word, a tone, a gesture—a history. -And his audience? Well, I mustn't tell you about that, -and perhaps the sense of utter incongruity was born -entirely of my own imagination. But to hear him -describe how he spent the night in a crowded railway-station -waiting-room where many things that should -be decently hidden were revealed, and where he, a -respectable celibate divine, shared a pallet with dames -of varying ages and attractiveness ... and.... The -veil just drawn aside fell down again upon the scene, -and English propriety came to its own with a shudder.</p> - -<p>Yes, if you are wise you will visit M. le Curé. And -ask him to tell you how he disguised himself as a drover, -and how, when in defiance of all authority he came back -to Sermaize, he himself swept and cleaned out the big -room which the Germans had used as a hospital, and -which they had befouled and filthied, leaving vessels -full of offal and indescribable loathlinesses, where -blood was thick on walls and floor; a room that stank, -putrid, abominable. It was German filth, and German -beastliness, and French women, their hearts still hot -within them, would not touch it.</p> - -<p>And ask him to tell you how nearly he was killed by -a shell which fell on an outhouse in which he was taking -shelter, and how he was called up, and as a soldier of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> -France was told to lead a horse to some village whose -name I have forgotten, and how he, who hardly knew -one end of a horse from another, led it, and on arriving -at the village met an irate officer.</p> - -<p>"And what are you doing here?"</p> - -<p>"I do not know."</p> - -<p>"Your regiment?"</p> - -<p>"I haven't one."</p> - -<p>"And the horse?"</p> - -<p>A shrug, what indeed of the horse?</p> - -<p>Three days later he was wearing his cassock again.</p> - -<p>Once, when escaping from Sermaize he was nearly -shot by some French soldiers. There were only a few -of them, and their nerves had been shattered. Nerves -do give way sometimes when an avalanche sweeps over -them, and the Germans came into France like a -thousand avalanches. And so these poor wretches, -separated from their regiment, fled. It was probably -the wisest thing they could do under the circumstances. -"Sauve qui peut." There are few cries more terrible -than that. But a village lay in the line of flight, and -in the village there was good red wine. It was a hot -day, France was lost, Paris capitulating, and man a -thirsty animal. A corporal rescued M. le Curé when -his back was against the wall and rifles, describing wild -circles, were threatening him; finally, the nerveless ones -went back to their regiment and fought gloriously for -France, and Paris did not capitulate after all.</p> - - -<p class="center">III</p> - -<p>With a howl of bitter anguish Tante Joséphine collapsed -upon the ground, and the earth shook. For<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> -Tante Joséphine was fat, and her bones were buried -beyond all hope of recovery under great pendulous -masses of quivering, perspiring flesh. And she had -walked, <i lang="fr">mais, pensez donc!</i>—walked thousands of -accursed miles through the woods, she had tripped -over roots, she had been hoisted over banks, she had -crashed like an avalanche down trenches and drains. -She was no longer a woman, she was a bath—behold the -perspiration!—she was an ache, <i lang="fr">mon Dieu!</i> not one, -but five million villainous aches; she was a lurid fire -of profanity. For while she, Tante Joséphine, walked -and fell and "larded the green earth," Grandmère lay -in the <i lang="fr">brouette</i> and refused to be evicted. At first -Tante Joséphine tried to get in too. Surely the war -which had worked so many miracles would transform -her into a telescope, but the war was unkind, and Pierre, -<i lang="fr">pauvre petit gosse!</i> had been temporarily submerged -in a sea of agitated fat from which he had been rescued -with difficulty. And Grandmère was only eighty-two, -whereas she, Tante Joséphine, was sixty.</p> - -<p>All day long her eyes had turned to the <i lang="fr">brouette</i>, and -to Grandmère lying back like a queen. No, she could -bear it no longer. If she did not ride she would die, -or be taken by the Germans, and her blood would be -on Grandmère's head, and shadowed by remorse would -be all that selfish woman's days. The wood resounded -with the bellowings, and the green earth trembled -because Tante Joséphine, as she sat on it, trembled with -wrath and fatigue and desolation and woe.</p> - -<p>Grandmère stirred in the <i lang="fr">brouette</i>. At eighty-two -one is not so active as one was at twenty, but one isn't -old, <i lang="fr">ma foi</i>! Père Bronchot was old. He would be -ninety-four at Toussaint, but she—oh, she could still<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> -show that big soft thing of a Tante Joséphine what it -was to be a woman of France. She was always a -weakling, was Joséphine, fit only for pasturage. And -so behold the quivering mountain ludicrously piling -itself upon the <i lang="fr">brouette</i>, Pierre, a pensive look in his eye, -standing by the while. He staggered as he caught up -the handles. The chariot swayed ominously. The -mountain became a volcano spurting forth fire. The -chariot steadied, and then very slowly resumed its way. -Half a kilomètre, three-quarters, a whole. Grandmère -was strangely silent, for at eighty-two one is not so -young as one was at twenty, and kilomètres grow -strangely long as the years go by.</p> - -<p>Tante Joséphine snored. Pierre ceased to push.</p> - -<p>"Allons, Allons. Pierre, que veux-tu? Is it that -the Germans shall catch us and make of you a stew for -their supper?" Tante Joséphine had wakened up.</p> - -<p>"I am tired."</p> - -<p>"Ah, paresseux." The volcano became active -again.</p> - -<p>Pierre looked at Grandmère. How old she was! -And why did she look so white as she trailed her feet -bravely through the wood?</p> - -<p>"Grandmère is ill. She must ride!"</p> - -<p>What Tante Joséphine said the woods have gathered -to their breast. Pierre became pensive, then he smiled. -"Eh, bien. En route."</p> - -<p>The kilomètre becomes very long when one is eighty-two, -but Grandmère was a daughter of France. Her -head was high, her eye steadfast as she plodded on, -taking no notice of the way, never seeing the deep -drain that ran beside the path. But Pierre saw it. He -must have, because he saw everything. He was made<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> -that way. And that is why Tante Joséphine has -never been able to understand why she dreamed she -was rolling down a precipice with a railway train -rolling on top of her, and wakened to find herself deep -in the soft mould at the bottom of the drain, the <i lang="fr">brouette</i> -reclining on—well, on the highest promontory of her -coast-line, while Pierre and Grandmère peered over -the top with the eyes of celestial explorers who look -down suddenly into hell.</p> - -<p>So and in such wise was the manner of their going. -Of the return Tante Joséphine does not speak. For -a time they hid in the woods, other good Sermaizians -with them. How did they live? Ah, don't ask me -that! They existed, somehow, as birds and squirrels -exist, perhaps, and then one day they said they were -going home. I am not at all sure that the authorities -wanted to have them there. For only a handful of -houses remained, and though many a cellar was still -intact under the ruins, cellars, considered as human -habitation, may, without undue exaggeration, be said -to lack some of the advantages of modern civilisation. -How was Tante Joséphine, how were the stained and -battered scarecrows that accompanied her to provide -for themselves during the winter? Would broken -bricks make bread? Would fire-eaten iron-work make -a blanket? Authority might protest, Sermaizians did -not care. They crept into the cellars that numbed -them to the very marrow on cold days, living like -badgers and foxes in their dark, comfortless holes, -enduring bitter cold and terrible privation, lacking food -and clothes and fire and light, but telling themselves -that they were at home and sucking good comfort from -the telling.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p> - -<p>Needless to say, there weren't nearly enough cellars -to go round, and direful things might have happened -but for a lucky accident. Hidden in the woods about -a mile from the town was an old Hydropathic Establishment, -known as La Source, which had escaped the -general destruction. Into it, regardless of its dirt and -its bleak, excessive discomfort swarmed some three -hundred of the <i lang="fr">sinistrés</i>, there to huddle the long winter -away.</p> - -<p>As an example of its special attractions, let me tell -you of one woman who lived with her two children in a -tiny room, the walls of which streamed with damp, -which had no fireplace, no heating possibilities of any -kind, and whose sole furniture consisted of a barrow -and one thin blanket.</p> - -<p>From the point of view of the Relief worker an ideal -case. Beautiful misery, you know. It could hardly -be surpassed.</p> - -<p>A Society—a very modest Society; it has repeatedly -warned me that it dislikes publicity, so I heroically -refrain from mentioning its name<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a>—swept down upon -the ruins early in 1915, and taking possession of one -of the buildings at La Source, made the theatre its -Common-room, the billiard-room its bedroom, and a -top-loft a general dumping-ground, whose contents -included a camp bed but no sheets, a tin basin and jug, -an apologetic towel and, let me think—I can't remember -a dressing-table or a mirror. It was a very modest -Society, you remember, and the sum of its vanity——? -Well, it perpetrated the uniform. Let it rest in peace.</p> - -<p>Wherefore and because of which things a grey-clad<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> -apparition, moving through the moonlight like some -hideous spectre of woe, arrived that warm June night -at La Source, and was ushered into a room where -innumerable people were drinking cocoa, rushing about, -talking—ye gods, how they talked!—smoking.... I -was more frightened than I have ever been in my life. -I am not used to crowds, and to my fevered imagination -every unit was a battalion. Then because I was hotter -and thirstier than a grain of sand in a sun-scorched -desert, cocoa was thrust upon me—<em>cocoa</em>! I drank it, -loathing it, and wondered why everybody seemed to -be drinking out of the same mug.</p> - -<p>Then a young man seized my kit-bag. "Come -along." My hair began to rise. I had been prepared -for a great deal, but this.... I looked at the young -man, he looked at me. The situation, at all events, -did not lack piquancy! It was indeed a Sentimental -Journey that I was making, and Sterne.... But the -inimitable episode was not to repeat itself. My only -room-mate was a bat.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III</a></h2> -</div> -<p class="center">FIRST IMPRESSIONS</p> - - -<p class="center">I</p> - -<p>Sermaize, however, was not to be the scene of my -future labours. The honour was reserved for Bar-le-Duc, -the captital city of the Meuse, the seat of a Prefecture, -and proud manufacturer of a very special jam, -"Confitures de Bar-le-Duc." The mouth waters at -the very thought of it, but desire develops a limp when -you have seen the initial processes of manufacture; -for these consist in the removal by means of a finely-cut -quill of every pip from every currant about to be -boiled in the sacrificial pan. As you go through the -streets in July you see white and crimson patches on -the ground. They look disgustingly like something -that has been chewed and spumed forth again. They -are the discarded currant pips, for only the skin and -pulp are made into jam.</p> - -<p>This unpipping (have we any adequate translation -for <i lang="fr">épepiner</i>?), paid for at the rate of about four sous a -pound, is sometimes carried on under the cleanliest -of home conditions, but occasionally one sees a group -of women at work round a table that makes jam for -the moment the least appetising of comestibles. Nevertheless, -if the good God ever places a pot of Confiture -de Bar-le-Duc upon your table, eat it; eat it <i lang="fr">à la Russe</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> -with a spoon—don't insult it with bread—and you -will become a god with nectar on your lips.</p> - -<p>There were about four thousand refugees in Bar. -That is why I was there too. And before I had been -ten minutes in the town a hard-voiced woman said, -"Would you please carry those <i lang="fr">seaux hygiéniques</i> -(sanitary pails) upstairs?" So much for my anticipatory -thrills. If I ever go to heaven I shall be put in the -back garden.</p> - -<p><i lang="fr">À la guerre, comme à la guerre.</i> I carried the pails—a -work of supererogation as it subsequently transpired, -for they all had to be brought down again promptly, -so heavily were they in demand.</p> - -<p>For the sanitation of Bar-le-Duc has yet to be born.<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> -One can't call arrangements that date from the fourteenth -and fifteenth centuries sanitation, one can only -call them self-advertisement. Until I went to Bar I -never knew that the air could be solid with smell. -One might as well walk up a sewer as up the Rue de -l'Horloge on a hot day. Every man, woman and -child in the town ought to have died of diphtheria, -typhoid, septic poisoning, of a dozen gruesome diseases -long ago. If smells could kill, Bar would be as depopulated -as the Dead Cities of the Zuyder Zee. But the -French seem to thrive on smells, though in all fairness -I must admit that once or twice a grumble reached me. -But that was when the cesspool under the window was -discharging its contents into the yard.</p> - -<p>The hard-voiced woman was hygienically mad. -She imported a Sanitary Inspector, an ironic anomaly,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> -who used to blush apoplectically through meals because -she would discuss the undiscussable with him. "I -hope you are not squeamish? We don't mind these -things here," she said to me. "It is so stupid to be a -prude."</p> - -<p>Frankly, I could have slain that woman. She -wasn't fit to live. The climax came on a broiling day -when we were all exhausted and not a little sick from -heat and smell. She pleasingly entertained us at -dinner with a graphic description of a tubercular hip -which she had been dressing. There was a manure -heap outside the window of the sick child's room. -It crawled with flies. So did the room. So did the -hip.</p> - -<p>She went back to the native sphere she should never -have left a few days later, but in the meantime she had -obsessed us all with a firm belief in the value of the -<i lang="fr">seau hygiénique</i>. Every refugee family should have -one. Our first care must be to provide it. The -obsession drove us into strange difficulties, as, for -example, once in a neighbouring village where, trusting -to my companion to keep the kindly but inquisitive -Curé who accompanied us too deeply engaged in conversation -to hear what I was saying, I asked the mother -of a large family if she would like us to give her -one.</p> - -<p>"Qu'est que c'est? What did you say?"</p> - -<p>Gentle as my murmur had been, M. le Curé was -down on me like a shot. The woman who hesitates -is lost. Anything is better than embarrassment. I -repeated the question.</p> - -<p>"Ce n'est pas nécessaire. Il y a un jardin," was his -electrifying reply, and we filed out after him, with new<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> -ideas on French social questions simmering in our -heads.</p> - -<p>More embarrassing still, though, was a visit to a -dear old couple living high up in a small room in a -narrow fœtid street. Madame Legrand was a dear, -with a round chubby face and the brightest of blue -eyes, a complexion like a rosy apple and dimples like -a girl's. She wore a spotlessly white mob-cap with a -coquettish little frill round it, and she was just as clean -and as fresh and as sonsy as if she had stepped out of -her little cottage to go to Mass. Her husband was a -rather picturesque creature, with a crimson cummerbund -round his waist. He had been a <i lang="fr">garde-forêt</i>, and -together they had saved and scraped, living frugally -and decently, putting money by every year until at -last they were able to buy a cottage and an acre or -two of land. Then the war came and the Germans, -and the cottage was burnt, and the poor old things -fled to Bar-le-Duc, homeless and beggared, possessed -of nothing in all the world but just the clothes on their -backs.</p> - -<p>The <i lang="fr">garde-forêt</i> was talking to my companion. I -broached the all-important subject to Madame.</p> - -<p>"Vous avez un seau hygiénique?" (I admit it was -vilely put.)</p> - -<p>"Mais oui, Mademoiselle. Voulez-vous ...?" Before -I could stop her she had flourished it out upon the floor. -It seems there are no limits to French hospitality, -but there are to what even a commonplace English -woman can face with stoical calm. Lest worse befall -we fled. Somehow our sanitary researches lacked -enthusiasm after that.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="center">II</p> - -<p>"Bar-le-Duc, an ancient and historical city of the -Meuse, is beautifully situated on the banks of the -Ornain."</p> - -<p>That, of course, is how I should have commenced -Chapter III, and then, with Baedekered solemnity, -have described its streets, its canals, its railway-station—a -dull affair until a bomb blew its glass -roof to fragments; when it became quaintly skeletonic—its -woods and hills, its churches and its -monuments.</p> - -<p>Only I never do anything quite as I ought to, and -my capacity for getting into mischief is unlimited. I -can't bear the level highways of Life, cut like a Route -Nationale straight from point to point, white, steam-rollered, -respectable, horrible. For me the by-ways -and the lanes, the hedges smelling of wild roses and -woodbine, or a-fire with berry and burning leaf, the -cross-cuts leading you know not whither, but delightfully -sure to surprise you in the end. What if the -surprise is sometimes in a bog, in the mire, or in -a thicket of furze? More often than not it is in -Fairyland.</p> - -<p>And so grant me your indulgence if I wander -a little, loitering in the green meadows, plunging -through the dim woods of experience. Especially as -I am going to be good now and explain Bar and the -refugees.</p> - -<p>As I told you, there were some four thousand of them, -from the Argonne, the Ardennes, Luxembourg, and -many a frontier village such as Longuyon or Longwy. -And Bar received them coldly. It dubbed them, without<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> -distinction of person, "ces sales émigrés," forgetting -that the dirt and squalor of their appearance was due -to adversity and not to any fault of their own. Forgetting, -too, that it had very nearly been <i lang="fr">émigré</i> itself. -For the Germans came within five miles of it. From -the town shells could be seen bursting high up the -valley; the blaze of burning villages reddened the -evening sky. Trains poured out laden with terrified -inhabitants fearing the worst, all the hospitals were -evacuated, and down the roads from the battle, from -Mussey, from Vassincourt, from Laimont and Révigny -came the wounded, a long procession of maimed and -broken men. They lay in the streets, on door-steps, -in the station-yard, they fell, dying, by canal and river -bank. Kindly women, thrusting their own fear aside, -ministered to them, the cannon thundering at their -very door. And with the wounded came the refugees. -What a procession that must have been. Women have -told me of it. Told me how, after days—even weeks—of -semi-starvation, lying in the open at night, exposed -to rain and sun, often unable to get even a drink of -water (for to their eternal shame many a village locked -its wells, refusing to open them even for parched and -wailing children), they found themselves caught in -the backwash of the battle. To all the other horrors of -flight was added this. Men, it might be their own -sons, or husbands, or brothers, blood-stained remnants -of humanity plodding wearily, desperately down the -road, while in the fields and in the ditches lay mangled, -encarnadined things that the very sun itself must -have shuddered to look upon. Old feeble men and -women fell out and died by the way, a mother carried -her dead baby for three nights and three days, for there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> -was no one to bury it, and the God of Life robed -himself in the trappings of Death as he gathered -exhausted mother and new-born babe in his arms.</p> - -<p>And so they came to Bar. In the big dormitories of -the Caserne Oudinot straw was laid on the floor, and -there they were lodged, some after a night's rest to set -wearily forth again, others to remain in the town, for -the tide had turned and the Germans were in retreat.</p> - -<p>There must have been an unusually large number of -houses to let in Bar before the war; many, we know, -had been condemned by the authorities, and, truth to -tell, I don't wonder at it. "House to let" did not imply, -as you might suppose, that it was untenanted, especially -if the house was in the rue des Grangettes, or rue -Oudinot, rue de Véel, or rue de l'Horloge. The -tenants paid no rent. They had been in possession for -years, possibly centuries. They were as numerous as -the sands of the sea-shore, and they had all the <i lang="fr">élan</i>, -the <i lang="fr">joie de vivre</i>, the vivacity and the tactical genius -of the French nation. They welcomed the unhappy -refugees—I was going to say vociferously, remembering -the soldier who, billeted in a Kerry village, complained -that the fleas sat up and barked at him.</p> - -<p>The rooms, though dirty, unsanitary and swarming -with the terror that hoppeth in the noonday (there -were other and even worse plagues as well), were a -shelter. The war would be over in three months, and -one would be going home again. In the meantime -one could endure the palliasse (a great sack filled -with straw and laid on the floor, and on which four, five, -seven or even more people slept at night), one could -cower under the single blanket provided by the town, -not undressing, of course; that would be to perish. One<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> -could learn to share the narrowest of quarters with nine, -eleven, even fifteen other people; one could tighten -one's belt when hunger came—and it came very often -during those first hard months—but one could not -endure the hostile looks of the tradespeople, and the -<i lang="fr">sales émigrés</i> spit at one in the streets.</p> - -<p>The refugees, however, had one good friend; monsieur -C., an ex-mayor of the town and a man whose -"heart was open as day to melting charity," made -their cause his own. And perhaps because of him, -perhaps out of its own good heart, the town, officially -considered, did its best for them. It gave them clean -straw for their palliasses; it saw that no room was -without a stove; it established a market for them when -it discovered that the shopkeepers, exploiting misery, -were scandalously overcharging for their goods; it -declined to take rent from mothers with young families; -and it appointed a doctor who gave medical attention -free.</p> - -<p>All very good and helpful, but mere drops in the -bucket of refugee needs. You see the war had caught -them unawares, and at first, no doubt for wise military -reasons, the authorities discouraged flight. People who -might have packed up necessaries and escaped in good -order found themselves driven like cattle through the -country, the Germans at their heels, the smallest of -bundles clutched under their arms, and the gendarmes -shouting "Vîte, Vîte, Depêchez-vous, depêchez-vous," -till reason itself trembled in the balance.</p> - -<p>Some, too, had remembered the war of <i lang="fr">Soixante-Dix</i>, -when the Prussians, marching to victory, treated the -civilians kindly. "They passed through our village -laughing and singing songs," old women have told me.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> -Some atrocities there were, even then; but, compared -with those of the present war, only the spasmodic -outbursts of boyhood in a rage.</p> - -<p>Consequently, flight was often delayed till the last -moment, delayed till it was too late, and, caught by the -tide, some found themselves prisoners behind the lines. -Those who got away saved practically nothing. Sometimes -a few family papers, sometimes the <i lang="fr">bas de laine</i>, -the storehouse of their savings, sometimes a change of -linen, most often nothing at all.</p> - -<p>"Mais rien, Mademoiselle. Je vous assure, rien du -tout, du tout, du tout. Pas ça," and with the familiar -gesture a forefinger nail would catch behind a front -tooth and then click sharply outwards. When talking -to an excited Meusienne, it is well to be wary. One -must not stand too near, for she is sure to thrust her -face close to your own, and when the finger flies out -it no longer answers to the helm. It may end its -unbridled career anywhere, and commit awful havoc -in the ending, for the nail of the Meusienne is not a nail, -it is a talon.</p> - -<p>No wonder the poor souls needed help. No wonder -they besieged our door when the news went forth that -"Les Anglaises" had come to town and were distributing -clothes and utensils, chairs, <i lang="fr">garde-mangers</i> (small -safes in which to keep their food, the fly pest being -sheerly horrible), sheets, blankets—anything and -everything that destitute humanity needs and is grateful -for. Their faith in us, after a few months of work, -became profound. They believed we could evolve -anything, anywhere and at a moment's notice. If -stern necessity obliged us to refuse, they had a touching -way of saying, "Eh bien, ce sera pour une autre<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> -fois"<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a>—a politeness which extricated them gracefully -from a difficult position, but left us struggling in -the net of circumstance and unaccountably convinced -that when they called again "our purse, our person, -our extremest means would lie all unlocked to their -occasion."</p> - - -<p class="center">III</p> - -<p>But these little amenities of relief only thrust themselves -upon me by degrees. At first, during the torrid -summer weeks, everything was so new and so strange -there were no clean-cut outlines at all. Before one -impression had focused itself upon the mind another -was claiming place. My brain—if you could have -examined it—must have looked like a photographic -plate exposed some dozens of times by a careless -amateur. From the general mistiness and blur only -a few things stand out. The stifling heat, the awful -smells, the unending succession of weeping and -hysterical women, and last, but not least, <i lang="fr">les puces</i>.</p> - -<p>Did you ever hear the story of the Irish farmer who -said he "did not grudge them their bite and their -sup, but what he could not stand was the continule -thramping"? Well, the thramping was maddening. -I believe I never paid a visit to a refugee in those -days without becoming the exercising ground for light -cavalry. People sitting quietly in our Common-room -working at case-papers would suddenly dash away, to -come back some minutes later in rage and exasperation. -The cavalry still manœuvred. A mere patrol of two -or three could be dealt with, but the poor wretch who -had a regiment nearly qualified for a lunatic asylum.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span></p> - -<p>Every visit we paid renewed our afflictions, and the -houses, old and long untenanted, being so disgustingly -dirty, we endured mental agonies—in addition to -physical ones—when we thought of the filth from -which the plague had come. Oddly enough, we did -not suffer so much the next summer, and we were -mercifully spared the attentions of other less active -but even more horrible forms of entomological life.</p> - -<p>You see, it was a rule—and as experience proved a -very wise rule—of our Society that no help should -be given unless the applicant had been visited and -full particulars of his, or her, condition ascertained. -Roughly speaking, we found out where he had come -from, his previous occupation and station in life, the -size of his farm if he had one and the amount of his -stock, horses, cattle, sheep, pigs, poultry, rabbits, etc.; -we made notes on his housing conditions, tabulated -the members of his family, their ages and sex, their -present employment and the amount of wages earned. -All of which took time.</p> - -<p>Armed with a notebook and pencil, we would sally -forth, to grope our way up pitch-dark staircases, knock -at innumerable doors, dash past the murky corner where -the cesspool lay—I know houses in which it is under -the stairs—and at last run the refugee to earth.</p> - -<p>Then followed the usual routine. A chair—generally -broken or minus a back—or a stool dragged forth with -an apology for its poverty: "Quand on est émigrée, -vous savez, Madame—ou Mademoiselle, je ne sais -pas?" and then the torrent. A word sufficed to unloose -it. Only a fool would try to stem it.</p> - -<p>"Ah, Mademoiselle, you do not know what I have -suffered."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span></p> - -<p>So Madame would settle herself to the tale, and that -was the moment when ... when ... when doubt -grew, then certainty, and "Half-a-league, half-a-league, -half-a-league onward" hammered an accompaniment -on the brain.</p> - -<p>In the evening we sorted out our notes and made -up our case papers. These latter should yield rich -harvest to the future historian if they are preserved, -and if the good God has endowed him with a sense of -humour. He could make such delicious "copy" from -them. For the individuality of the worker stamped -itself upon the papers even more legibly than the -biography of the case. There are lots of gems scattered -through them, but the one I like best lies in the column -headed Medical Relief, and runs as follows—</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p><i lang="fr">Aug. 26.</i> Madame Guiot has pneumonia. Condition -serious.</p> - -<p><i lang="fr">Aug. 31.</i> Madame quite comfortable.</p> - -<p><i lang="fr">Sept. 2.</i> Madame has died. (Nurse's initials -appended.)</p></blockquote> - -<p>In the papers you may read that such and such a -house is infested with vermin; that Mademoiselle Wurtz -is said, by the neighbours, to drink; that Madame -Dablainville is filthy and lives like a pig; that the life -of Madame Hache falls regrettably below accepted -standards of morality; and that Madame Bontemps, -who probably never owned three pocket-handkerchiefs -in her life, declares that she lost sixty pairs of handspun -linen sheets, four dozen chemises, and pillow and -bolster cases innumerable when the Germans burnt -her home.</p> - -<p>You may also read how Mademoiselle Rose Perrotin -was nursing a sick father when the Boches took posses<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span>sion -of her village; how the Commandant ordered her -to leave, and how she, with tears streaming down her -large fat face, begged to be allowed to remain. Her -father was dying. It was impossible to leave him. -But German Commandants care little for filial feelings. -Mademoiselle Rose (a blossom withering on its stem) -had a figure like a monolith but a heart of gold. Even -though they shot her she would not go away. They -did not shoot her. They quietly placed her on the -outskirts of the village and bade her begone. Next -day she crept back again. She prayed, she wept, she -implored, she entreated. When a monolith weeps -even Emperors succumb. So did the Commandant. -A day, two days, passed, and then her father died. -They must have been very dreadful days, but worse -was to follow. No one would bury the dead Frenchman. -She had to leave him lying there—I gathered, -however, that a grave was subsequently dug for him -in unconsecrated ground—and walk, and walk, and -walk, mile after mile, kilométre after kilométre, longing -to weep, nay, to cascade tears; but, "Figurez-vous, -Mademoiselle. Ah, quelle misère. I had not got a -pocket-handkerchief!"</p> - -<p>That a father should die, that is Fate, but that one -should not have a pocket-handkerchief!... She -wept afresh because she had not been able to weep then, -and I believe that I shall carry to my grave a vision of -stout, monolithic, utterly prosaic Mademoiselle Rose -toiling across half a Department of France weeping -because she had no pocket-handkerchief in which to -mourn for her honoured dead.</p> - -<p>Or you may read of little André Moldinot, who was -alone in the fields when he saw the Germans coming, -and who ran away, drifting he doesn't know how to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> -Bar-le-Duc, where he has remained in the care of kindly -people, hearing no news of his family, not knowing -whether they are alive or dead. Or of the old man, -whose name I have forgotten—was it Galzandat?—who -fought with the English in the Crimea, and who -lived with fourteen other people (women and children) -in a stifling hole in the rue Polval. Or of that awful -room in the street near the Canal where thirty people -ate and drank and slept and quarrelled a whole winter -through—a room unspeakable in its dirt and untidiness. -Old rags lay heaped on the floor, dirty crockery, -potato, carrot and turnip peelings littered the greasy -table, big palliasses strewed the corners, loathsome -bedclothes crawling on them. On strings stretched -from wall to wall clothes were drying (one inmate was -a washerwoman), an old witch-like creature with -matted, unkempt locks flitted about, and in the far -corner, on the day I went there, two priests were -offering ghostly counsel to a weeping woman.</p> - -<p>Misery makes strange bedfellows, and the cyclone of -war flung together people who, in ordinary circumstances, -would have been far removed from one another's -orbit. At first the good and the bad, the clean and -the dirty, the thrifty and the drunken herded together, -too wretched to complain, too crushed and despondent -to hope for better things. But gradually temperament -asserted itself, and one by one, as opportunity arose -and their circumstances improved, the respectable -ceased to rub elbows with the dissolute, and they found -quarters of their own either through their own exertions -or through the help of their friends. Monsieur C. and -Madame B. (wise, witty, kindly Madame B.) were -especially energetic in this respect.</p> - -<p>So we soon began to feel comfortably assured that the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> -tenants of Maison Blanpain and of one or two other -rookeries were the scum of the refugee pool, idle, -disreputable, swearing, undeserving vagabonds every -one. They took us in gloriously many a time, they -fooled us to the top of our sentimental bent—at first—but -we could not have done without them. For -though Virtue may bathe the world in still, white light, -it is Vice that splashes the dancing colours over it.</p> - - -<p class="center">IV</p> - -<p>Yes, I suppose we were taken in at times!</p> - -<p>On the outskirts of Bar, beyond the Faubourg -Marbot, lies a wood called the Bois de Maestricht. The -way to it lies through a narrow winding valley of great -beauty, especially in the autumn when the fires of the -dying year are ablaze in wood and field. Just at the -end of the road where the woods crush down and engulf -it is a long strip of meadow, a nocturne in green and -purple when the autumn crocus is in flower, and in the -woods are violets and wild strawberries, and long trails -of lesser periwinkle, ivy crimson and white, and hellebore -and oxlips and all sorts of delicious things, with, from -just one point on one of the countless uphill paths, a -view of Bar, so exquisite, so ethereal it almost seems -like a glimpse of some far dream-silvered land.</p> - -<p>And it was here, just on the edge of the wood, in a -small rough shack, that Madame Martin and her family -took up their abode. The shack consisted of one room, -not long and certainly not wide, a slice of which, rudely -partitioned off, did duty as a cow-house. Here lived -Madame Martin and her husband, her granddaughter -Alice, a small boy suffering from a malady which caused -severe abdominal distention, and one or two other<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> -children. Le Père Battin, whose relationship was -obscure but presumably deeply-rooted in the family -soil, shared the cow-end with his beloved <i lang="fr">vache</i>, a noble -beast and, like himself, a refugee.</p> - -<p>Le Père Battin always averred that he had adopted -the cow, it being obviously an orphan, homeless and a -beggar, but my own firm conviction is that he stole -it. It was a kindly cow and a generous, for it proceeded -speedily to enrich him with a calf which, unlike most -refugee babies, throve amazingly, and when I saw it -took up so much space in the narrow shed there was -hardly room enough for its mother. How Le Père -Battin squeezed himself in as well is a pure wonder. -But squeeze he did, and when delicately suggesting -that a gift of sheets from "Les Anglaises" would -completely assuage the miseries of his lot, he showed -me his bed. It was in the feeding-trough. One hurried -glance was enough. I no longer wondered why the -first visitor to the Martin abode, having unwisely -settled down for a chat, spent the rest of the day and -the greater part of the night in fruitless chase. I did -not settle down. "It was fear, O Little Hunter, it -was fear."</p> - -<p>Nor did I give the sheets. The cow would have -eaten them.</p> - -<p>I remarked that the day was hot, and repaired to the -garden (a wilderness of weeds and despairing flowers), -and there Madame entertained me.</p> - -<p>She was an ideal "case." Just the person whose -photograph should be sent to kindly, generous souls at -home. She was small, active, rather witty, a good talker, -with darting brown eyes and a bewitching grin. She -wore a befrilled cap, and oh, she could flatter with her -tongue! A nice old soul in spite of the villainy with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> -which Père Battin subsequently charged her. Her -first visitor—she who unfortunately sat down—fell -a victim on the spot. So did we all. Heaven had -made Madame that way. It was inevitable. So all -the riches of our earth were poured forth for her, and -she devoured largely of our substance. Then the girl -Alice developed throat trouble and was ministered to -by our nurse, and she, I grieve to say, coming home one -day from the Bois, hinted dark things about Alice—things -which made our righteous judgment to stand on -end. We continued to pet Madame Martin; we did -everything we could for her except eat her jam. -Having seen the shack, and le Père Battin and that one -overcrowded room where flies in dense black swarms -settled on everything, where dogs scratched and where -age-old dirt gathered more dirt to its arms with the -dawning of every day, that jam pot contained so many -possibilities, we felt that to eat its contents would be -sheer murder.</p> - -<p>And so the autumn wore away and winter came, and -then one day as I was going through the valley to visit -some woodcutters in the Bois, I met le Père Battin -driving home his cow. And he stopped me. Once -when speaking of the Emperor of Austria he had said, -"Il est en train de mourir? Bon. On a eu bien assez -de ces lapins-là." (He is dying? Good. We have -had enough of such rabbits.)</p> - -<p>A man who can discuss an Emperor in such terms -is not lightly to be passed by, but I stood as far from -him as possible. I did not till then believe that -anybody could be as dirty as Father Battin and live.</p> - -<p>But he thrust himself close, looking fearfully about -him, sinking his voice to a hoarse whisper.</p> - -<p>"Did I know the truth about the Martins? That<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> -Alice had gone to Révigny? There were soldiers -there." He nodded sapiently. "But Alice was la -vraie Comtesse de——" He mentioned a hyphenated -name. "Yes. It was true. She was married. A -young man, a fool. Mon Dieu, but a fool. She might -live in a shack in the Bois and her grandmother might -be an old peasant woman, but she was a Comtesse, -wife of the Comte de——."</p> - -<p>I took leave to suppose that Père Battin was mad.</p> - -<p>But he was circumstantial. "Yes. Her husband -had left her. An affair of a few weeks. Every gendarme -in the town knew. And Madame knew. Knew -and made money out of it. Many a good franc she -had put in her pocket. But the gendarmes were watching, -and one day the old woman and Alice would...." -Again he murmured unprintable things.</p> - -<p>"Monsieur, you are ridiculous." Alice Martin a -Comtesse! No wonder I laughed. But he insisted. -He kept on repeating it.</p> - -<p>"La vraie Comtesse de——" But now she -was....</p> - -<p>The dark sayings of the district nurse came back to -my mind and I wondered. But Père Battin was -offensive to ear and eye. I wished him <i lang="fr">bonjour</i>, -watching him trailing down the path, his <i lang="fr">vache</i> ruminatingly -leading, and then went on my way to the wood.</p> - -<p>An hour later Madame Martin came running down the -hill to greet me. She had seen me go by and waited. -In her hand was a bunch of flowers, the best, least -discouraged from her untended garden.</p> - -<p>"For Mademoiselle," she said, and as she held them -out her smile scattered gold dust upon my heart.</p> - -<p>Now do you think le Père Battin's story was true?</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span></p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</a></h2> -</div> -<p class="center">À TRAVERS BAR-LE-DUC</p> - - -<p>Whether it was or not, it has come rather too soon -in my narrative, I am afraid. It has carried me far -away from the days when the quaint individual charm -of Bar-le-Duc began to assert itself, little by little, -slowly, but with such cumulative effect that in the -end we grew to love it.</p> - -<p>Our work took us into every lane and street, but it -was the Ville-Haute that I loved best. I wish I could -describe it to you as it lies on the hill; wish I could -take you up the steep narrow lane that leads to the -rue St Jean, and then into the rue de l'Armurier -which bends like a giant S and is so narrow you fancy -you could touch the houses on either side by stretching -out your arms. Small boys tobogganed down it in -the great frost last year. It was rare sport for the -small boys, but disastrous to sober-minded propriety -which occasionally found that it, too, was tobogganing—but -not on a tray—and with an absence of grace -and premeditation that were devastating in their -results.</p> - -<p>Indeed, the Ville-Haute was a death-trap during -those weeks. There were slides everywhere. The -Place St Pierre was scarred with them, the wonderful -Place which, pear-shaped, wide at the top, narrowing -to its lower end, lies encircled in the arms of the rue<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> -des Dues de Bar and of the rue des Grangettes. And -at the top, commandingly in the centre stands the -church of St Pierre—once St Maze—where the famous -statue, the "Squelette," is now buried so many -fathoms deep in sandbags nothing can be seen of it -at all. It is said that Mr. Edmund Gosse once came -to spend a night in Bar and was so bewitched by its -beauty he remained for several weeks, writing a -charming little romance about it in which the "Squelette" -plays a prominent part. And, indeed, the only -way to know Bar is to live in it. It would be quite -easy to tell you of the Tour de l'Horloge standing on -guard on the hill; of the fifteenth-and sixteenth-century -houses; of the Pont Nôtre Dame; of the Canal des -Usines which always reminded me of Bruges; of the -river winding through the Lower Town, tall poplars -standing sentinel along the banks; of the great canal -that cuts a fine almost parallel to that of the river -and which, if only you followed it far enough, would -bring you at last to the Rhine; of winding Polval that -is so exquisite in snow and on a moonlit night, with -its houses piled one above the other like an old Italian -town; or of the fine arched gate that leads to the -Place du Château and that led there when the stately -Dukes of Bar held court in the street that bears their -name, and led there, too, when Charles Stuart lived -in the High Town and dreamed perhaps of a kingdom -beyond the seas. Of all these things and of the -beautiful cloistered sixteenth-century College in the -rue Gilles de Trêves one might speak, exhausting the -mines of their adjectives and similes, but would you -be any closer to the soul of the town? I doubt it, -and so I refrain from description. For Bar depends<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> -for its beauty and its distinctive charm on something -more than mere outline. Colour, atmosphere, some -ghostly raiment of the past still clinging to its limbs, -and over all the views over the valley—yes, the soul -is elusive and intangible; you will find it most surely -under the white rays of the moon.</p> - -<p>The views are simply intoxicating, but if you want to -see one of the finest you must make the acquaintance of -a certain Madame—Madame, shall we say, Schneider? -Any name will do if only it is Teutonic enough. She -loomed upon our horizon as the purveyor of corduroy -trousers. Oh, not for a profit. She, <i lang="fr">bien entendu</i>, -was a philanthropist disposing of the salvage of a -large shop, the owner of which was a refugee. The -trousers being much needed at the moment we bought -them, but many months afterwards she came with -serge garments that were not even remotely connected -with a refugee, so I am prone to believe that -she was not quite so disinterested as she would have -had us believe.</p> - -<p>To visit her you must climb to the Ville-Haute, and -there in a house panelled throughout (such woodwork—old, -old, old—my very eyes water at the thought of -it), you will find a long low room with a wide window -springing like a balcony over the gulf that lies under -the rue Chavé. And from the window you can look -far over the town which lies beneath you, over the -silver path of river and canal to the Côte Ste Catherine, -the steep hill, once a vineyard, that rises on the other -side; you can see the aviation ground, and you can -follow the white ribbon of road that runs past Naives -to St Mihiel. And you can look up and down the -valley for miles—to Fains, to Mussey and beyond, on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> -one hand to Longeville, and Trouville on the other. -And Marbot lies all unlocked under your eyes, and -Maestricht, and the beautiful hill over which, if you are -wise, you will one day walk to Resson.</p> - -<p>From Place Tribel, from innumerable coigns of -vantage, the view is equally beautiful, though not, I -think, quite so extensive. Which, perhaps coupled -with her aggressively Teutonic name, accounted for -the suspicious looks cast last winter upon Madame -Schneider. A spy! Oh, yes, a devout Catholic -always at the Mass, but a spy. Did she not leave -Bar on the very morning of the big air raid, returning -that night? And didn't every one know that she -signalled by means of lights movements of troops and -of aeroplanes to other spies hidden on the hill beyond -Naives? The preposterous story gained ground. -Then one day we thrilled to hear that Madame Schneider -had been arrested. She disappeared for a while—we -never knew whether anything had been proved -against her—and then when we had forgotten all -about her I met her in the Place St Pierre. She was -coming out of the church, but she bowed her head and -passed by.</p> - -<p>Perhaps, after all this, you won't care to visit her? -But then you will go down to your grave sorrowing, -because you will never see those Boiseries, nor that -view.</p> - -<p>Other things beside the beauty of the town began to -creep into prominence too, of course, and among them -the supreme patience and courage of our refugee -women. In circumstances that might have crushed -the strongest they fought gamely and with few exceptions -conquered. I take my hat off to the French<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> -nation. We know how its men can fight, some day -I hope the world will know how its women can endure. -Remember that they were given no separation allowances -until January 1915, and the allowance when it -did come was a pittance. One franc twenty-five -centimes per day for each adult, fifty centimes a day -for each child up to the age of sixteen; or, roughly -speaking, 1<i lang="fr">s.</i> a day and 4½<i lang="fr">d.</i> per day. What would -our English women say to that? It barely sufficed -for food. Indeed, as time went on and prices rose -I dare to say it did not even suffice for food. The -refugee woman, possessed of not one stick of furniture—except -in the case of farmers who were able to bring -away some household goods in their carts—of not one -cup or plate or jug or spoon, without needles, thread, -or scissors, without even a comb, and all too often -without even a change of linen, had to manage as best -she could. That she did manage is the triumph of -French thrift and cleverness in turning everything -to account. We heard of them making <i lang="fr">duvets</i> by -filling sacks with dried leaves; one woman actually -collected enough thistle-down for the purpose. They -clung desperately to their standards, they would -trudge miles to the woods in order to get a faggot for -their fire, they took any and every kind of work -that offered, they refused to become submerged.</p> - -<p>And gradually they began to assume individuality. -Families and family histories began to limn themselves -on the brain as did the life of the streets, things -as well as people.</p> - -<p>Some of these histories I must tell you later on; -to-night, for some odd reason, little Mademoiselle -Froment is in my mind. She was not a refugee, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> -I owe her a debt of eternal gratitude, for when I fled -to her immediately on arrival she condoled with me -in my sartorial afflictions and promptly made me -garments in which without shame I could worship -the Goddess of Reason. Later on the uniform was -chopped up and re-made, becoming wearable, but -never smart. Even French magic could not accomplish -that.</p> - -<p>Poor little Mademoiselle Froment, so patient with -all my ignorances, my complete inability to understand -the value of what she called "le mouvement" of my -gown, and my hurried dips into Bellows as she volubly -discursed of the fashions. Last summer when she was -making me some more clothes she was sad indeed. -Her only and adored brother, who had passed scatheless -through the inferno at Verdun, was killed on the -Somme.</p> - -<p>"My hurried dips into Bellows." Does that mean -anything, or does it sound like transcendental nonsense? -Bellows, by the way, is not a thing to blow the fire -with, it is a dictionary—a pocket dictionary worth -its weight in good red gold. And to my copy hangs -a tale. Can you endure a little autobiography?</p> - -<p>During my week-end at Sermaize I heard more -French than I had heard, I suppose, in all my life before, -or at least I heard new words in such bewildering -profusion that I really believe Bellows saved my life. -I carried him about, I referred to him at frequent -intervals. I flatter myself that with his aid I made -myself intelligible even when discussing the technique -of agriculture and other such abstruse subjects.</p> - -<p>But it is Bellows' deplorable misfortune to look -rather like a Prayer Book, or a Bible. And so it befell<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> -that when I had been some weeks at Bar a Sermaizian -Relief Worker made anxious inquiries as to my character. -"She seems such an odd sort of person because, -though she reads her Bible ostentatiously in public, -she smokes, and we once heard her say...." After -all, does it really matter what they heard me say?</p> - -<p>After which confession of my sins I must tell you -about the Temple, the shrine of French Protestantism -in Bar. There we stood up to pray, and we sat down -to sing the most lugubrious hymns it has ever been -my lot to listen to. The church is large, and the -congregation is small. On the hottest day in summer -it struck chill, in winter it was a refrigerator. The -pastor, being <i lang="fr">mobilisé</i>, his place was generally taken -by an earnest and I am sure devout being, who having -congratulated the present generation, the first time -I went there, upon having been chosen to defend the -cause of justice and of truth, proceeded to dwell with -the most heartrending emphasis upon every detail of -the suffering and sorrow the war—the defence upon -which he congratulated us!—has caused. He spared -us nothing. Not even the shell-riven soldier with -white face upturned questioningly to the stars. Not -even the fear-racked mother or wife to whom one day -the dreaded message comes. Then when he had -reduced every one to abysmal depression and many -to silent pitiful tears, he cried, "Soyez des optimistes," -and seemed to think that the crying would suffice. -Why? Ah, don't ask me that! Perhaps the war is -too big a thing for the preachers to handle. The -platitudes of years have been drowned by the mutter -of the guns and the long sad wail of broken, shattered -humanity.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span></p> - -<p>Yes, the Temple depressed me. Writing of it even -now sends me into the profundities. It was all so -cheerless, so dreary. In spite of the drop of Huguenot -blood in my veins, the Temple and I are in nothing -akin.</p> - -<p>So let us away—away from the cold shadows and -the cheerless creed, from the joyless God and the altar -where Beauty lies dead, out into the boulevard where -the trees are in leaf and the sun is shining, and where -you may see a regiment go by in its horizon blue, or a -battery of artillery with its camouflaged guns. Smoke -is pouring from the chimney of the regimental kitchen, -how jolly it looks curling up against the sky! and -sitting by the driver of the third ammunition cart is -a fox terrier who knows so much about war he will -be a field-marshal when he lives again. Or we may see -a team of woodcutters with the trunks of mighty -trees slung on axles with great chains and drawn -tandemwise by two or three horses, and hear the -lame newsvendor at the corner near l'église St Jean -calling his "Le Gé, le Pay-Gé, et le Petit-Parisien." -Pronounce the g soft in Gé, of course, for it stands for -<i lang="fr">Le Journal</i>, and Pay-Gé for <i lang="fr">Le Petit Journal</i>, all of -which, together with the <i lang="fr">Continental Daily Mail</i>, -can be bought in Bar each day shortly after one -o'clock unless the trains happen to be running late. -During the Verdun rush they sometimes did not -arrive at all.</p> - -<p>A more musical cry, however, is that of the rabbit-skin -man, "Peau de li-è-vre, Peau de li-è-vre," with -a delicious lilting cadence on li-è-vre. I never discovered -what he gave in exchange for the skins, but -it was certainly not money.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p> - -<p>Or the Tambour may take up his position at the -corner of the street, the Tambour who swells with -pride and civic dignity. A sharp tap-tap on his drum, -the crowd collects and then in a hoarse roar he shouts -his decree. It may concern mad dogs, or the water -supply, or the day on which the <i lang="fr">allocation</i> will be -given to the <i lang="fr">emigrés</i>, or it may be instructions how to -behave during an air raid. Whatever it is, it is extremely -difficult to make sense of it, as a motor-car -and a huge military lorry are sure to crash past as he -roars. But nothing disconcerts him. He shouts to -his appointed end, and then with a swaggering roll on -his drum marches off to the next street-crossing.</p> - -<p>If luck is with us as we prowl along we may see—and, -oh, it is indeed a vision!—our butcheress Marguerite -dive into a neighbouring shop. Dive in such -a connection is a poetic license, for if a description of -Marguerite must begin in military phrase it must -equally surely end in architectural. If on the front -there were two strong salients, in the rear was a flying -buttress. Marguerite—delicious irony of nomenclature—was -exceedingly short, her hair was black as -a raven's wing, her eyes were brown, and her cheeks, -full-blown, were red as a ripe, ripe cherry. Over the -salients she wore vast tracts of white apron plentifully -besmeared with blood. So were her hands, so was her -shop. It was the goriest butchery I have ever seen. -As "Madame" (I shall tell you about her later on) -did all our shopping, it was my fortune to visit Marguerite -but once a month. Had I been obliged to -visit her twice I should now be a vegetarian living -on nuts.</p> - -<p>Sometimes Marguerite cast aside the loathsome<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> -evidences of her trade and donned a smart black -costume and a velvet hat with feathers in it. Then -indeed she was the vision radiant, and never shall I -forget meeting her on the boulevard one day when a -covey of Taubes were bombing the town. Hearing -something like a traction-engine snorting behind me, -I turned and beheld Marguerite, whose walk was a fat, -plethoric waddle, panting down the street. Every -feather in her hat was stiff with fright, her mouth was -open, she was breathing like a man under an anæsthetic, -and—by the transcendental gods I swear it!—the -buttress was flying. Marguerite <span class="smcap">RAN</span>.</p> - -<p>But she has a soul, though you may not believe it. -She must have, for on the reeking offal-strewn table -that adorns her shop she sets almost daily a vase of -flowers. Perhaps in spite of her offensive messiness -she doesn't really enjoy being a butcher.</p> - -<p>During that first summer, although so near the -Front, Bar was rather a quiet place where soldiers—Territorials?—in -all sorts of odd uniforms drifted by -(I once saw a man in a red cap, a khaki coat, blue -trousers and knee-high yellow boots), while civilians -went placidly about their affairs. Our flat was on -the Boulevard de la Rochelle, and so on the high road -to Verdun and St Mihiel, a stroke of good luck that -sometimes interfered sadly with our work. For many -a regiment went marching by, sometimes with colours -flying and bands playing, gay and gallant, impertinent, -jolly fellows with a quip for every petticoat in the -street and a lightly blown kiss for every face at a -window. But there were days when no light jest set -the women giggling, days when the marching men -were beaten to the very earth with weariness, stained<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> -with mud, bowed beneath their packs, eyes set straight -in front of them, seeing nothing but the interminable -road, the road that led from the trenches and—at last—to -rest. Far away we could hear the ominous mutter -of the guns, now rising, now falling, now catching up -earth and air and sky into a wild clamour of sound. -No need to ask why the men did not look up as they -went by, no need to wonder at the strained, set faces. -Perhaps in their ears as in ours there rang, high -above the dull heavy burden of the cannon-song, the -thin chanting of the priests who, so many desolate -times a day, trod the road that leads to the Garden -of Sacrifice where sleep so many of the sons of France. -Ah, I can hear them now, and see the pitiful little -processions winding down from every quarter of the -town, the priest mechanically chanting, a few soldiers -grouped round the coffin, a weeping woman or two -following close behind. Of late—since Verdun, I think—the -tiny guard of honour no longer treads the road, -and the friendless soldier dying far from home goes -alone to his last resting-place upon the hill.</p> - -<p>There the open graves are always waiting. The -wooden black crosses have spread far out over the -hill-side, climbing up and across till no one dare -estimate their number. Five thousand, a grave-digger -told us long, long ago. Since then Verdun has written -her name in blood across the sky, Verdun impregnable -because her rampart was the heart of the manhood -of France, Verdun supreme because the flower of that -manhood laid down their lives in order to keep her so.</p> - -<p>Yes, the chanting of the priests brings an odd lump -into one's throat, but one day we saw a little ceremony -that moved us more deeply still.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span></p> - -<p>It was early morning, a strain of martial music rose -on the air. We hurried to the windows and saw a -company of soldiers coming down the boulevard. -They passed our house, marched to the far end, halted, -and then turning, ranged themselves in a great semicircle -beyond the window. To say that their movements -lacked the cleanness and precision which an -English regiment would have shown is to put the matter -mildly. Their business was to form three sides of a -square. They formed it, shuffling and dodging, -elbowing, scraping their feet, falling into their places -by the Grace of God while a fat fussy officer skirmished -about for all the world like an agitated curate at a -Sunday School treat.</p> - -<p>The fourth side of the square consisted of the pavement -and a crowd of women, children and lads, a -crowd with a gap in the middle where, like a rock -rising above the waters of sympathy, stood two chairs -on which two soldiers, <i lang="fr">mutilés de la guerre</i>, were sitting. -Brave men both. They had distinguished themselves -in fight, and this morning France was to do them -honour.</p> - -<p>An officer read aloud something we could not hear, -and then a general stepped forward and pinned the -Croix de Guerre upon their breasts, and colonels and -staff officers shook them by the hand, and the band -broke into the Marseillaise and the watching crowd -tried to raise a cheer. But their voice died in their -throat, no sound would come, for the Song of the Guns -was in their ears and out across the hills their own -men were fighting, to come home to them, perhaps, -one day as these men had come, or it might be never -to come home at all. The cheer became a sob, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> -voice of a stricken nation, of suffering heart-sick -womanhood waiting ... waiting.</p> - -<p>So the band played a lively tune and the soldiers -marched away, the crowd melted silently about its -daily work and for a time the boulevard was deserted, -deserted save for him who sat huddled into his deep -arm-chair, the Croix de Guerre upon his breast and the -pitiless sunlight streaming down upon the pavements -he would never tread again.</p> - -<p>A few weeks later the bands march by again. It -is evening, and the shadows are lengthening. We -mingle with the crowd and see a tall, stern man with -aloof, inflexible, unsmiling face pass up and down the -lines of the guard of honour drawn up to receive him. -A shorter, stouter man is at his side.</p> - -<p>"Vive Kitchenaire!"</p> - -<p>The densely packed crowds take up the cry. "Vive -l'Angleterre!" Ah, it is God Save the King that -the band is playing now. "Vive Kitchenaire." -Again the shout goes up. The short, stout man -greets the crowd, and a mighty roar responds. "Vive -Joffre." He smiles, but his companion never unbends. -As the glorious Marseillaise thunders on the -air, with unseeing eyes and ears that surely do not hear -he turns away, and the dark passage of the house -swallows him up.</p> - -<p>"Vive Kitchenaire!"</p> - -<p>The echoes have hardly died away when a tear-choked -voice greets me. "Ah, Mademoiselle, but the -news is bad to-day." Tears are rolling down the -little Frenchwoman's face. So deep is her grief I -fear a personal loss. But she shakes her head. No, it -is not that. She hands me a paper and, stunned, I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> -read the news. As I cross the street and turn towards -home the world seems shadowed. Sorrow has drawn -her veils closely about the town—sorrow for the man -whom it trusted and whose privilege it had been to -honour.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span></p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V</a></h2> -</div> -<p class="center">SETTLING-IN</p> - - -<p>Our first duty on arriving in the town was to go -to the Bureau de Police and ask for a <i lang="fr">permis de séjour</i>. -We understood that without it there would be short -shrift and a shorter journey into a world which has -not yet been surveyed. So we sallied forth to the -Bureau at break of day, and there we interviewed an -old <i lang="fr">grognard</i>—the only really grumpy person I met in -France—who scowled at us and scolded us and called -the devil to witness that these English names are -barbarous, the chatter of monkeys, unintelligible to -any civilised ear. We soothed him with shaking -knees; suppose he refused us permission to reside -in the town? And presently he melted. He never -really liquified, you know, there was always a crust; -but once or twice on subsequent occasions a drop, -just a teeny, weeny drop of the milk of human kindness -oozed through. He demanded our photographs, -and when he saw my "finished-while-you-wait" his -belief in our Simian ancestry took indestructible form. -The number of my photographs now scattered over -France on imposing documents is incalculable, and the -number of times I have had to howl my age into -unsympathetic ears so great that all my natural -modesty in dealing with so delicate a subject has -wilted away.</p> - -<p>The <i lang="fr">grognard</i> dismissed us at length, feeling like<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> -the worm that perisheth, and a fortnight or so later -presented us with our <i lang="fr">permis de séjour</i> (which warned -us that any infringement of its regulations would -expose us to immediate arrest as spies), and with an -esoteric document called an <i lang="fr">Extrait du Registre d'Immatriculation</i> -whose purpose in history we were never -able to determine. No one ever asked to see it, no -one ever asked to see our <i lang="fr">permis de séjour</i>, in fact the -gendarmes of the town showed a reprehensible lack -of interest in our proceedings.</p> - -<p>In addition to these we were provided as time went -on with a <i lang="fr">carte d'identité</i>, a permission to circulate on -a bicycle in districts specified, a permission to take -photographs not of military interest, and later on -with a <i lang="fr">carnet d'étranger</i> which gripped us in a tight -fist, kept us at the end of a very short chain, and made -us rue the day we were born. And of course we had -our passports as well.</p> - -<p>Not being a cyclist, I used that particular permission -when tramping on the Sabbath beyond the confines -of the town. Once a bright military star tried to stop -some one who followed my example. "It is a permission -to cycle. You are on foot," he argued.</p> - -<p>"But the bicycle could not get here without me," -she replied, and her merciless logic dimmed his light.</p> - -<p>As for me, I carried all my papers on all occasions -that took me past a sentry. It offended my freeborn -British independence to be held up by a blue-coated -creature with a bayonet in his hand on a road that I -choose to grace with my presence, and so I took a mild -revenge. The stoutest sentry quailed before such -evidence of rectitude, and indeed we secretly believed -that sheer curiosity prompted many a "Halte-là."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span></p> - -<p>Once as I trudged a road far from Bar two gorgeous -individuals mounted on prancing chargers swept -past me. A moment later they drew rein, and with -those eyes of seventh sense that are at the back of -every woman's head I knew they were studying my -retreating form. A lunatic or a spy? Surely only -one or the other would wear that grey dress. A shout, -"Holà." I marched on. If French military police -wish to accost me they must observe at least a measure -of propriety. Again the "Holà." My shoulders -crinkled. Would a bullet whiz between? A thunder -of galloping hoofs, a horse racing by in a cloud of dust, -a swirl and a gendarme majestically barring the way.</p> - -<p>"Where are you going, Madame?"</p> - -<p>Stifling a desire to ask what business it was of his, -I replied suavely—</p> - -<p>"To Bar-le-Duc."</p> - -<p>"Bar-le-Duc? But it is miles from here."</p> - -<p>"Eh bien? What of it? On se promene."</p> - -<p>"I must ask to see your papers."</p> - -<p>Out they all came, a goodly bunch. He took them, -appalled. He fingered them; he stared.</p> - -<p>"Madame is English?"</p> - -<p>"But certainly? What did Monsieur suppose?"</p> - -<p>The papers are thrust into my hand, he salutes, -flicks his horse with a spur, and I am alone on the -undulating road with the woods just touched by -spring's soft wing, spreading all about me.</p> - -<p>But this happened when sentries and bayonets had lost -their terror. There were days when we treated them -with more respect. Familiarity breeds contempt—when -one knows that the bayonet is not sharpened.</p> - -<p>Our papers in order, our heads no longer wobbling<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> -on our shoulders, our next duty was to call on the <i lang="fr">élite</i> -of the town. In France you don't wait to be called -upon, you call. It was nerve-racking work for two -miserable foreigners, one of whom had almost no -French, while that of the other abjectly deserted her -in moments of perturbation. But we survived it, -perhaps because every one was out. Only at Madame -B.'s did we find people at home, and she—how she must -have sighed when we departed! We all laboured -heavily in the vineyard, but fright, shyness, the -barrier of language prevented us—on that day at least—from -gathering much fruit. Exhausted, humbled -to the dust, thinking of all the brilliant things we -might have said if only we could have taken the -invaluable Bellows with us, we crawled home to -seek comfort in a <i lang="fr">brioche de Lorraine</i> and a cup of -China tea which we had to make for ourselves, as -"Madame" had not yet learned the method. In -fact there were many things she had not learned, -and one of them was what the English understand by -the word rubbish. It was a subject on which for many -a day her views and ours unhappily rarely coincided. -Once we caught her in the Common-room, casting -baleful eyes on cherished treasures.</p> - -<p>"Do you wish that I shall throw away these -<i lang="fr">ordures</i>, Mademoiselle?" she asked.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Ordures!</span> Ye gods! A bucketful of gladioli and -stocks and all sorts of delicious things gathered in -the curé's garden at Naives, and she called them -<i lang="fr">ordures</i>. With a shriek we fell upon her and her -broom. Did she not know they were flowers? What -devil of ignorance possessed her that she should call -them rubbish?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Flowers! <i lang="fr">bien entendu</i>, but what does one want -with flowers in a sitting-room? The petals fall, they -are <i lang="fr">des ordures</i>." Again the insulting word.</p> - -<p>"Don't you <em>like</em> flowers, Madame?" we asked, and -she turned resigned eyes to ours. These English! -Perhaps the good God who made them understood -them, but as for her, Odille Drouet ... With a shrug -she consigned us to the limbo of the inscrutable. A -garden was the place for flowers, why should we bring -them into the house?</p> - -<p>French logic. Why, indeed?</p> - -<p>Madame never understood us, but I think she grew -to tolerate us in the end, and perhaps even to like us -a little for our own queer sakes. Once, when she had -been with us for a few weeks, she exclaimed so bitterly, -"I wish I had never seen the English," we wondered -what we could possibly have done to offend her. -Agitated inquiries relieved our minds. We were -merely a disagreeable incident of the war. If the -Germans had not pillaged France we would not have -come to Bar-le-Duc. Cause and effect linked us with -the Boche in her mind, and I think she never looked -at us without seeing the Crown Prince leering over our -shoulder.</p> - -<p>A woman of strange passivity of temper, a fatalist—like -so many of her countrymen—she had a face that -Botticelli would have worshipped. Masses of dark -hair exquisitely neat were coiled on her head (why, -oh why, do our English women wear hats? Is not -half a French woman's attraction in the simple dignity -of the uncovered head? I never realised the vulgarising -properties of hat till I lived in France), her eyes -were dark, her brows delicately pencilled, her features<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> -regular. Gentleness, resignation, patience were all -we saw in her. She had one of the saddest faces I -have ever seen.</p> - -<p>No doubt she had good reason to be sad. Her -husband, a well-to-do farmer, died of consumption in -the years before the war, and she who now cooked and -scrubbed and dusted and tidied for us once drove her -own buggy, once ruled a comfortable house and -superintended the vagaries of three servants. In -her fine old cupboards were stores of handspun linen -sheets, sixty pairs at least, and ten or twelve dozen -handspun, handmade chemises. Six <i lang="fr">lits montés</i> -testified to the luxury of her home; on the walls -hung rare pottery, Lunéville, Sarréguemin and the -like.</p> - -<p>A <i lang="fr">lit monté</i> is a definite sign of affluence, and well it -may be so. The French understand at least two -things thoroughly—sauces and beds. Incidentally -I believe that the French woman does not exist who -cannot make a good omelette. I saw one made once -in five minutes over a smoky wood fire, the pan poised -scientifically on two or three crosswise sticks. An -English woman cooking on such an altar would have -offered us an imitation of chamois leather, charred, -toughened and impregnated with smoke. Madame -the wife of the Mayor of Vavincourt offered us—dare -I describe it? Perhaps one day I shall write a -sonnet to that omelette; it must not be dishonoured -in prose.</p> - -<p>Yes, the French can cook, and they can make beds, -and unless you have stretched your wearied limbs in -a real <i lang="fr">lit monté</i>, unless you have sunk fathoms deep -in its downy nest and have felt the light, exquisite<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> -warmth of the <i lang="fr">duvet</i> steal through your limbs, you -have never known what comfort is.</p> - -<p>You gaze at it with awe when you see it first, -wondering how you are to get in. I know women -who had to climb upon a chair every night in order -to scale the feathery heights. For my own part, -being long of limb, I found a flying leap the most -graceful means of access, but there are connoisseurs -who recommend a short ladder.</p> - -<p>Piled on the top of a palliasse and a mattress are a -huge bed of feathers, spotless sheets, a single blanket, -a coverlet, and then the crimson silk-covered <i lang="fr">duvet</i>, -over which is spread a canopy of lace. The cost -must be fabulous, though oddly enough no one ever -mentioned a probable price. But no refugee can -speak of her lost <i lang="fr">lits montés</i> without tears.</p> - -<p>Madame had six of them, and cattle in her byre, -and horses in her stable, and all the costly implements -of a well-stocked farm. Yet for months she lived -with her little girl, her father, and her mother in a -single room in the Place de la Halle, a dark, narrow, -grimy room that no soap and water could clean. -Her bed was a sack of straw laid upon the ground, and—until -the Society provided them—she had no sheets, -no pillow-cases, indeed I doubt if she even had a -pillow. Her farm is razed to the ground, and no doubt -some fat unimaginative sausage-filled Hausfrau sleeps -under her sheets and cuddles contentedly under her -<i lang="fr">duvet</i> o' nights.</p> - -<p>The little party of four were six weeks on the road -to Bar from that farm beyond Montfaucon, and during -the whole time they never ate hot food and rarely -cooked food. No wonder Madame seldom laughed—<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> -those weeks of haunting fear and present misery were -never forgotten—no wonder it was months before -we shook her out of her settled apathy and saw some -life, some animation grow again in her quiet face.</p> - -<p>If sometimes we felt inclined to shake her for other -reasons than those of humanity her caution was to -blame. Never did she commit herself. To every -question inviting an opinion she returned the same -exasperating reply, "C'est comme vous voulez, -Mademoiselle." I believe if we had asked her to buy -antelopes' tongues and kangaroos' tails for dinner -she would have replied equably, tonelessly, "C'est -comme vous voulez."</p> - -<p>Whether the point at issue was a warm winter jacket, -or a table, or a holiday on the Sabbath, or cabbage for -dinner, the answer was always the same. Once in a -moment of excitement—but this was when she had -got used to us, and found we were not so awful as we -looked—she exclaimed, "Oh, mais taisez-vous, -Mademoiselle," and we felt as if an earthquake had -riven the town.</p> - -<p>Later she developed a quiet humour, but she always -remained aloof. Unlike Madame Philipot who succeeded -her, she never showed the least interest in the -refugees who besieged our door. "C'est une dame." -The head insinuated through the door would be withdrawn -and we left to the joys of conjecture. The -"lady" might be that ragged villain from the rue -Phulpin, wife of a shepherd, a drunken dissolute -vagabond who pawned her all for liquor, or it might be -Madame B., while "C'est un Monsieur" might conceal -a General of Division, or the Service de Ville claiming -two francs for delivery of a parcel, in its cryptic folds.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span></p> - -<p>She had no curiosity, vulgar or intellectual, that we -could discover. She was invariably patient, sweet-tempered, -gentle of voice, courteous of phrase. She -came to her work punctually at seven; going home, -unless cataclysms happened, at twelve. If the cataclysms -did occur, even through no fault of our own, -we felt as guilty as if we had murdered babies in their -sleep, Madame being an orderly soul who detested -irregularity. And punctually at half-past four she -would come back again, cook the dinner, wash up <i lang="fr">la -vaisselle</i> and quietly disappear at eight.</p> - -<p>The manner of her going was characteristic.</p> - -<p>French women seem to have a horror of being out -alone after dark (perhaps they have excellent reason -for it, they know their countrymen better than I do), -and Madame was no exception to the rule. Perhaps -she was merely bowing her head to national code, -the rigid <i lang="fr">comme il faut</i>, perhaps it was a question of -temperament. Anyway the fact emerged, Madame -would not walk home alone. Who, then, should -accompany her? Her parents were old and nearly -bedridden, she had no husband, brother, or friend. -The crazy English who careered about at all hours -of the day and night? We had our work to do.</p> - -<p>Juliana was ordered to fetch her. This savouring -of adventure and responsibility fell in with Juliana's -mood. She consented. Now she was her mother's -younger daughter and her age was twelve. Can you -understand the psychology of it? This is how I -read it. A child was safe on the soldier-frequented -road, a mother with her child would not be intercepted, -but a good-looking woman alone—well, as the French -say, that was quite another <i lang="fr">paire de bottines</i>.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></p> - -<p>What would have happened had Juliana declined -the honour, I simply dare not conjecture. For that -damsel did precisely as she pleased. Her mother's -passivity, fatalism, call it what you will, was the -mainspring of all her relations with her children. -"Que voulez-vous? She wishes it." Or quite simply, -"Juliana does not wish it," closed the door against -all remonstrance. Madame was a strong-willed woman, -she never yielded an iota to us, but her children ruled. -When the elder girl, aged fourteen and well-placed -with a good family in Paris, came to Bar for a fortnight -and then refused to go back, Madame shrugged. Some -one in Paris may have been, indeed was, seriously -inconvenienced, but "Que voulez-vous?"</p> - -<p>"Don't you wish her to go back, Madame?"</p> - -<p>"But certainly. What should she do here? It is -not fit for a young girl, but que voul——" We fled.</p> - -<p>Parental authority seems to be a negligible quantity -in France. So far as I could see children did very -much as they liked, and were often spoiled to the verge -of objectionableness. Yet the steadfastness, courage, -thoughtfulness and whole-souled sanity of many a -young girl—or a child—would put older and wiser -heads to shame.</p> - -<p>A puzzling people, these French, who refute to-morrow -nearly every opinion they tempt you to -formulate about them to-day.</p> - -<p>If English women struggling with "chars" and -"generals" knew the value of a French <i lang="fr">femme de -ménage</i> there would be a stampede across the Channel -in search of her. She does your marketing much more -cheaply than you could do it yourself, she keeps her -accounts neatly, she is punctual, scrupulously honest,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> -dependable and trustworthy. She may not be clean -with British cleanness, her dusting may be superficial -(her own phrase, "passer un torchon," aptly describes -it), but she understands comfort, and in nearly twenty -months' experience of her I never knew a dinner spoiled -or a dish unpalatably served.</p> - -<p>Of course it is arguable that Madame was not a -<i lang="fr">femme de ménage</i>, nor of the servant class at all. -Granted! But there were others. There was the -<i lang="fr">bonne à tout faire</i> (general servant) of the old curé at -N. who ruled him with a rod of iron and cooked him -dinners fit for a king. And there was Eugénie, the -Abbé B.'s Eugénie, who, loving him with a dog-like -devotion, was his counsellor and his friend. She -corrected him for his good when she thought he needed -it, but she mothered and cared for him in his exile -from his loved village—French trenches run through -it to-day—as only a single-minded woman could.</p> - -<p>Yes, Madame—whether ours or some one else's—is -a treasure, and we guarded ours as the apple of our -eye. There were moments when we positively cringed -before her, so afraid were we that she might leave us; -for she hated cooking, hers having always been the -life of the fields, and though no self-respecting Frenchwoman -regards herself as a servant or as a menial, -there must have been many hours when the cruelty -of her position bit deep. Nevertheless she bore with -us for a year, and then the air raids began. And the -air raids shattered the nerves of Juliana—a brave -little soul, but delicate (we feared tainted with her -father's malady); and flight in the night to the nearest -cellar, unfortunately some distance away, brought -the shadow of Death too close to the home. So the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> -elders counselled flight. Juliana begged to be taken -away. Madame wished to remain. The matter hung -in uncertainty for some days, then eight alarms and -two raids in twenty-four hours settled it.</p> - -<p>The alarms began on Friday morning; on Saturday -Madame told us that the old people would stay in -Bar no longer and she had applied for the necessary -papers. They were going south to the Ain on the -morrow. Not a word of regret or apology for leaving -us at a moment's notice, or for giving us no time in -which to replace her. Why apologise since she could -neither alter nor prevent? She went through no wish -of her own, went at midday, just walked out as she -had done every day for a year, but came back next -morning to say good-bye and ask us to store some -odds and ends. When she had a settled address would -we send them on?</p> - -<p>So she went away, and our memory of her is of one -who never fought circumstances, never wrestled with -Fate. When the storms beat upon her, when rude -winds blew, she bowed her head and allowed them to -carry her where they listed. I think the spring of -her life must have broken on that August day when -she turned her cattle out on the fields and, closing the -door behind her, walked out of her house for ever.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI</a></h2> -</div> -<p class="center">THE BASKET-MAKERS OF VAUX-LES-PALAMIES</p> - - -<p>The long hot days of summer pursued their stifling -way, yet were all too short for the work we had in hand. -There were families to be visited, case-papers to be -written up, card-indexes to be filled in, and bales to -be unpacked. There were clothes to be sorted, there -were people in their hundreds to be fitted with coats -and trousers and shirts and underlinen and skirts -and blouses, and the thousand and one things to be -coped with in the Clothes-room. When Satan visits -Relief workers he always lives in the Clothes-room. -And there he takes a malicious delight in turning the -contents of the shelves upside down and in hiding from -view the outfit you chose so carefully yesterday evening -for Madame Hougelot, or Madame Collignon, so that -when you come to look for it in the morning, lo! it -is gone. And Madame is waiting with her six children -on the stairs, and the hall is a whirlpool of slowly-circling -humanity, who want everything under the sun -and much that is above it.</p> - -<p>Truly the way of the Relief worker is hard. But -it has its compensations. You live for a month, for -instance, on one exquisite episode. You are giving -a party; you have invited some fifteen hundred guests. -You spread them out over several days, <i lang="fr">bien entendu</i>, -and in the generosity of your heart you decide that each<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> -shall have a present. You sit at the receipt of custom, -issuing your cards with the name of each guest written -thereon, and to you comes Madame Ponnain. (That -is not her real name, but it serves.) Yes, she is a refugee -and she has two children. She would like three cards. -<i lang="fr">Bon.</i> You inscribe her name, you gaze at her -questioningly.</p> - -<p>"There is Georgette, she has two years."</p> - -<p><i lang="fr">Bon.</i> Georgette is inscribed.</p> - -<p>And then?</p> - -<p>Madame hesitates. There is the baby.</p> - -<p><i lang="fr">Bon.</i> His are?</p> - -<p>"Eh bien, il n'est pas encore au monde."</p> - -<p>You suggest that the unborn cannot ...</p> - -<p>"Mais mademoiselle—si il y a des étrennes (gifts)?"</p> - -<p>Perhaps, perhaps; one doesn't know. The Ponnains -were a people of much discrimination. He might -arrive in time. <i lang="fr">Quel dommage</i>, then, if he had no -ticket!</p> - -<p>He discriminated.</p> - -<p>He gets his ticket, and you register anew your -homage to French foresightfulness and thrift.</p> - -<p>And then you go back to the Clothes-room. You -climb over mountains of petticoats and chemises, all -of the same size and all made to fit a child of three. -There are thousands of them, they obsess you. You -dream at night that you are smothering under a hill -of petticoats while irate refugees, whose children are -all over five and half-naked, hurl the chemises and—other -things at you, uttering round French maledictions -in ear-splitting tones. You wade through the -wretched things, you eat them, sleep them; your brain -reels, you say things about work-parties which, if<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> -published, would cause an explosion, and the Pope -would excommunicate you and the Foreign Office hand -you your passports. You write frantic letters to headquarters, -then you grow cold, waxing sarcastic. You -hint that marriage as an institution existed in France -before 1912, and that the first baby was not born in -that year of blindfold peace. And you add a rider to -the effect that many, indeed most, of your cherished -<i lang="fr">émigrées</i> are not slum-dwellers fighting for rags at a -jumble sale, but respectable people who don't go about -in ragged trousers or with splashes of brown or yellow -paint on a blue serge dress. Then you are conscience-stricken, -for some of the bales have been packed by -Sanity, and the contents collected by Reason. There -are many white crows in the flock.</p> - -<p>A ring at the door interrupts, perhaps happily, your -epistolary labours. It is the Service de Ville, a surly -person but faithful. He has six bales. They are -immense. You go down, you try to roll one up the -stairs. Your comrade in labour is four feet six and -weighs seven stone. The bale weighs—or seems to -weigh—a ton. Sisyphus is not more impotent than -you. Then an angel appears. It is Madame. "I -heard the efforts," she remarks, and indeed our puffings -and pantings and blowings and swearings must have -been audible almost at the Front. She puts her solid -shoulder under the bale. It floats lightly up the stairs. -Then you begin to unpack. It is dirty work, and -destroys the whiteness of your hands. Never mind. -Remember <i lang="fr">les pauvres émigrées</i>, and that we are <i lang="fr">si -devouée</i>, you know.</p> - -<p>Everything under heaven has, I verily believe, -come at one time or another out of our bales—except<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> -live stock and joints of beef. Concertinas in senile -decay, mandolines without keys, guitars without -strings, jam leaking over a velvet gown, tons of old -newspapers and magazines—all English, of course, and -subsequently sold as waste-paper, hats that have -braved many a battle and breeze, boots without soles, -ball dresses, satin slippers (what <span class="smcap">do</span> people think -refugees need in the War Zone?), greasy articles of -apparel, the mere handling of which makes our fingers -shine, dirty underlinen, single socks and stockings, -married socks that are like the Irishman's shirt—made -of holes, another hundred dozen of petticoats for -children aged three, and once—how we laughed over it!—a -red velvet dress that I swear had been filched from -an organ-grinder's monkey, and with it a pair of-of—well, -you know. They were made of blue serge, -and when held out at width stretched all across the -Common-room. The biggest Mynheer that ever -smoked a pipe by the Zuyder Zee would have been -lost in them, and as they were neither male nor female, -only some sort "of giddy harumphrodite" could have -worn them.</p> - -<p>Sometimes we fell upon stale cough lozenges, on -mouldering biscuits, on dried fruits, on chocolate, on -chewing-gum, on moth-eaten bearskin rugs, or on a -brilliant yellow satin coverlet with LOVE in large green -capitals on it. The tale is unending, but it was not -all tragic. There were many days when our hearts -sang in gladness, when good, useful, sensible things -emerged from the bales and we fitted our people out -in style.</p> - -<p>But all the rubbish in the world must have been -dumped upon France in the last two years. Never<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> -has there been such a sweeping out of cupboards, such -a rummaging of dust-bins. The hobble skirts that -submerged us at one period nearly drove us into an -early grave. Picture us, with a skirt in hand. It is -twenty-seven inches round the tail, perhaps twenty-three -round the waist. And Madame, who waits with -such touching confidence in the discrimination of -Les Anglaises, tells you that she is <i lang="fr">forte</i>. As you look -at her you believe it. It is half a day's journey to walk -round her. You pace the wide circle thoughtfully, -you make rapid calculations, you give it up. The thing -simply cannot be done. And you send up a wild prayer -that before ever there comes another war French -women of the fields will take to artificial means of -restraining their figures. As it is, like Marguerite, -many of them occupy vast continents of space when -they take their walks abroad. And when they stand -on the staircase, smiling deprecatingly at you, and -you have nothing that will fit....</p> - -<p>And when it does fit it is blue, or green, and they -have a passion for black. Something discreet. Something -they can go to Mass in. I often wonder why they -worship their God in such dolorous guise. Something, -too, they can mourn in. So many are <i lang="fr">en deuil</i>. Once -a woman who came for clothes demanded black, refusing -a good coat because it was blue. The cousin of -her husband had died five months before, and never -had she been able to mourn him. If the English would -give her <i lang="fr">un peu de deuil</i>? She waited weeks. She -got it and went forth smiling happily upon an -appreciative world, ready to mourn at last.</p> - -<p>The weather is stifling, the Clothes-room an inferno. -The last visitor for the morning has been sent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> -contentedly away—she may come back to-morrow, -though, and tell us that the dress of Madeleine does -not fit, and may she have one the same as that which -Madame Charton got? Now the dress of Madame -Charton's Marie was new and of good serge, whereas -that of Madeleine was slightly worn and of light summer -material. But then Marie had an old petticoat, -whereas Madeleine had a new one. But this concession -to equality finds no favour in the eyes of Madeleine's -mother. She has looked upon the serge and -lusted after it. We suggest that a tuck, a little -arrangement.... She goes away. And in the house -in rue Paradis there is lamentation, and Marie, I grieve -to say, lifts up her shrill treble and crows. It is one -of the minor tragedies of life. Alas, that there are -so many!</p> - -<p>But as Madame the mother of Madeleine departs, -we know nothing of the reckoning that waits us on the -morrow. We only know that we promised to go and -see the Basket-makers to-day, that time is flying, and -haste suicidal with the thermometer at steaming-point.</p> - -<p>"Madame, we are going out. We cannot see any -one else."</p> - -<p><i lang="fr">Bon.</i> Madame is a Cerberus. She will write down -the names of callers and so ease our minds while we are -away.</p> - -<p>We fling on our hats, we arm ourselves with pencil -and notebook, and wend our way up the Avenue du -Château to the rue des Ducs de Bar. It is well to -choose this route sometimes, though it is longer than -that of the rue St. Jean, for it goes past the old gateway -and shows you the view over the rue de Véel. It<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> -is wise to look down on the rue de Véel; it is rather -foolhardy to walk in it. For motor-lorries whiz -through it at a murderous speed, garbage makes -meteoric flights from windows, the drainage screams -to Heaven, every house is a tenement house, most of -them are foul and vermin-ridden, and all are packed -with refugees.</p> - -<p>Well, perhaps not quite all. Even the rue de Véel -has its bright particular spots, one of them being the -house, set a little back from the street, in which Pétain, -"On-les-aura Pétain," lived during the battle of -Verdun. The street lies in a deep hollow, with cultivated -hills rising steeply above it. Higher up there -are woods on the far side, while above the sweeping -Avenue du Château the houses are piled one above the -other in tumbled, picturesque confusion.</p> - -<p>Once in the rue des Ducs we go straight to No. 49, -through a double-winged door into a courtyard, up a -flight of worn steps into a wee narrow lobby, rather -dark and noisome, and then, if any one cries <i lang="fr">Entrez</i>! -in response to our knock, into a great wide room.</p> - -<p>That some one would cry it is certain, for the room -is a human hive. It swarms with people. Short, -thickset, sturdy, rather heavily-built people, whose -beauty is not their strong point, but whose honesty is. -And another, for they have many, is their industry; -and yet another, dear to the heart of the Relief worker, -is their gratitude for any little help or sympathy that -may be given them.</p> - -<p>And, poor souls, they did need help. Think of it! -One room the factory, dining-room, bedroom, smoking-room, -sitting-room of forty people. Some old, some -young. Women, girls and men.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span></p> - -<p>It appalled you as you went in. On one side, down -all its length, and also along the top palliasses were laid -on the floor, so close they almost touched. Piled -neatly on these were scanty rugs or blankets. No -sheets or linen of any kind until our Society provided -them. There was only one bed—a gift from the -Society—and in that sat a little old woman bolt upright. -Her skin was the colour of old parchment, it -was seamed and lined and criss-crossed with wrinkles, -for she was over eighty years of age. But her spirit -was still young. She could enjoy a little joke.</p> - -<p>"Yes, I remember the war of Soixante-dix," she -said, "but it was not like this. Ma fois, non! Les -Prussiens—oh, they were good to us." Her eyes -twinkled. "They lived in our house. They were like -children."</p> - -<p>"Madame, Madame! Confess now that 'vous avez -fait la coquette' with those Prussians."</p> - -<p>Whereupon she cackled a big, "Ho, ho! Écoutez -ce qu'elle dit!" and a shrivelled finger poked me -facetiously in the ribs.</p> - -<p>But if the Basket-makers made friends with the -Germans in those far-off days, they hate them now. -Hate them with bitter, deadly hatred. "Ah, les -barbares! les sauvages! les rosses!" Madame Walfard -would cry, her face inflamed with anger. Her mother, -badly wounded by a shell, had become paralysed, so -there is perhaps some excuse for her venom.</p> - -<p>But for the most part they are too busy to waste -time in revilings. The little old woman is the only idle -person in the room. Squatting on low stools under the -windows—there are four or five set in the length of the -wall—the rest work unceasingly, small basins of water,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> -sheaves of osier, tools, finished baskets, and piles of -osier-ends strewn all about them. Down the middle -of the room runs a long table, littered with mugs, -bowls, cooking utensils, odds and ends of every description. -There is only one stove, a small one, utterly -inadequate for the size of the room. On it all their -cooking has to be done. I used to wonder if they -ever quarrelled.</p> - -<p>As time went on and I came to know them better, -Madame Malhomme and Madame Jacquemot told me -many a tale of their life in Vaux-les-Palamies, of the -opening days of war and of their subsequent flight -from their village. Madame Malhomme, daughter of -the little old lady who had once dared to flirt with a -Prussian, lived in the big room in the rue Des Ducs for -nearly a year. Then Madame B. established her and -her family in a little house about half a mile from the -town, where they had nothing to trouble them save the -depredations of an occasional rat, a negligible nuisance -compared with the (in more senses than one) overcrowded -condition of No. 49. For that historic -mansion had gathered innumerable inmates to its -breast during the long years of emptiness and decay. -And these inmates made the Basket-makers' lives a -burden to them.</p> - -<p>The cold, too, was penetrating, it ate through their -scanty clothes, it bit through flesh to the very bone. -The stove was an irony, a tiny flame in a frozen desert. -Every one was perished, Madame Malhomme not -least of all, for, seeing her daughter shivering, she -stripped off her only petticoat and forced her to put -it on.</p> - -<p>At night they lay in their clothes under their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> -miserable blankets. (Bar-le-Duc is not a very large -nor a very rich town, and in giving what it did to such -numbers of people it showed itself generous indeed. -In ordinary times its population is not more, and is -probably less, than 17,000, so an influx of 4000 destitute -refugees taxed it heavily.)</p> - -<p>The unavoidable publicities of their existence filled -the women with shame and dismay. Sleeping "comme -des bêtes sur la paille,"<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> or, more often still, lying awake -staring out into the unfriendly dark, what dreams, -what memories must have been theirs! How often -they must have seen the village, its cosy little homes, -each with its garden basking in the sun, the river -flowing by, and the great osier beds that were the -pride of them all.</p> - -<p>They seem to have lived very much to themselves, -these sturdy artisans, rarely leaving their valley, and -intermarrying to an unusual extent. You find the -same names cropping up again and again: Jacquemot, -Riot, or Malhomme. Like Quakers, every one seemed -to be the cousin of every one else. And they were -well-to-do. It is safe to presume that there was no -poverty in the village. Their baskets were justly -famous throughout France, and the average family -wage was about £3 a week. In addition they had -the produce of their garden, the inevitable pig being -fattened for the high destiny of the <i lang="fr">soupe au lard</i>, -rabbits and poultry. If Heaven denied them the gift -of physical beauty it had not been niggardly in other -respects. Best of all, it gave them the gift of labour. -In the spring pruning and tending the osier, then -cutting it, and piling it into great stacks which had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> -to be saturated with water every day during the hot -weather, planting and digging in their gardens, looking -after the rabbits and the pig, and in winter plying -their trade. Life moved serenely and contentedly in -Vaux-les-Palamies until the dark angel of destruction -passed over it and brushed it with his wings.</p> - -<p>The Basket-makers don't like the Boche; indeed, -they entertain a reasonable prejudice against him. -He foisted himself upon them, making their lives a -burden to them; he was coarse, brutal and overbearing, -he no more considered their feelings than he would -those of a rotten cabbage-stalk thrown out upon the -refuse-heap of a German town. He stayed with them -for a week. When he went away he bequeathed them -a prolific legacy. Madame Malhomme will tell you of -it if you ask her—at least she will when she knows -you well. She is not proud of it.</p> - -<p>"Ah, qu'ils sont sales, ces Boches," she says with -a shudder. She bought insecticide, she was afraid to -look her neighbours in the face. It did not occur to -her at first that her troubles were not personal and -individual. Then one day she screwed up her courage -and asked the question. The answers were all in the -affirmative. No one was without.</p> - -<p>So when news came that the Boche was returning, -Vaux-les-Palamies girded up its loins and fled. Shells -were falling on the village, so they dared not spend time -in extensive packings; in fact, they made little if any -attempt to pack at all. Madame's sister-in-law was -wounded in the shoulder, and the wound, untended for -days, began to crawl. Her description of it does not -remind you of a rose-scented garden. It was thrust -on me as a privilege. So was a view of the shoulder.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> -The latter was no longer crawling. It was exquisitely -white and clean, but it had a hole in it into which a child -might drive its fist.</p> - -<p>And so after much tribulation they found themselves -in Bar-le-Duc, and theirs was the only instance that -came under our notice of a village emigrating <i lang="fr">en masse</i>, -and settling itself tribally into its new quarters. Even -the Mayor came with them, and it was he who eventually -succeeded in getting a supply of osier and -putting them into touch with a market again. But -their activities are sadly restricted, and they make -none of their famous baskets <i lang="fr">de fantaisie</i> now, the -osier being dear and much of it bad, so their profit is -very, very small.</p> - -<p>I was in Bar for some months before I met Madame -Jacquemot. And then it was Madame B. who introduced -me to her. Her mother, an old lady of eighty-two, -had been in hospital; was now rather better, and -back again with her family in the rue Maréchale. -Would the Society give her sheets? As the dispenser -of other people's bounty I graciously opined that it -would, and calling on Madame Jacquemot, told her so. -Her mother was startlingly like the old lady at No. 49, -small, thin, wiry, and bird-like in her movements. -She had had shingles, poor soul, and talked of the -<i lang="fr">ceinture de feu</i> which had scorched her weary little -body. She talked of the Germans too. Ah, then you -should have seen her! How her eyes flashed! She -would straighten herself and all her tiny frame would -become infused with a majesty, a dignity that transfigured -her. Once a German soldier demanded something -of her, and when she told him quite truthfully -that she had not got it, he doubled his fist and dealt<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> -her a staggering blow on the breast. And she was -such a little scrap of humanity, just an old, old woman -with a brave, tender heart and the cleanest and -honestest of souls. She got her sheets and a good -warm shawl—I am afraid we took very special trouble -with that <i lang="fr">paquet</i>, choosing the best of our little gifts -for her—and soon afterwards I went to see her again. -As we sat in the dusky room while Madame Jacquemot -told stories, describing the method of cultivating the -osier, showing how the baskets are made, the old lady -began to cough and "hem" and make fluttering -movements with her hands. Madame Jacquemot, -thickset and broad-beamed like most of her people—she -had a fleshy nose and blue eyes, I remember, hair -turning grey, a pallid, rather unhealthy complexion and -a humorous mouth—got up, and going to an inner room -returned almost immediately with a quaintly-shaped -basket in her hands. The old lady took it from her -and held it out to me.</p> - -<p>"It is for you," she said. "And when you go home -to England you will tell people that it was made for -you by an old woman of eighty-two, a refugee, who -was ill and in hospital for months. I chose the osier -specially, there is not a bad bit in the basket. And -it is long, long since I have made a basket. I haven't -made one since we left home. But I wanted to make -one for you because you have been kind to us."</p> - -<p>I have that basket now; I shall keep it always and -think of the feeble fingers that twined the osier, fingers -that were never to twine it again, for the gallant spirit -that fought so gamely was growing more and more -weary. The old bear transplanting badly, they yearn -for their chimney corner and the familiar things that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> -are all their world. The long exile from her beloved -village told upon her heart, joy fell from her and, -saddened and desolate, she slipped quietly away.</p> - -<p>"She just fluttered away like a little bird," her -daughter said, and I was glad to know she had not -suffered at the last.</p> - -<p>"Ah, if only I could see the village again," she would -often say. "If only I might be buried there. To die -here, among strangers.... Ah, mademoiselle, do you -think the war will soon be over? Si seulement...." -To die and be buried among her own people. To die -at home. It was all she asked for, all she had left to -wish for in the world. She would look at me with -imploring, trustful eyes. Les Anglaises, they must -know. Surely I could tell her? And in the autumn -one would say, "It will be over in the spring," and in -the winter cry, "Ah yes, in the summer." But spring -came and summer followed, and still the guns reverberated -across the hills, and winter came and the -Harvest of Death was still in the reaping.</p> - -<p>Surely God must have His own Roll of Honour for -those who have fallen in the war, and many a humble -name that the world has never heard of will be written -on it in letters of gold.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span></p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII</a></h2> -</div> -<p class="center">IN WHICH WE PLAY TRUANT</p> - - -<p class="center">I</p> - -<p>Without wishing in the least to malign my fellow-men, -I am minded to declare that a vast percentage of -them are hypocrites. Not that they know it or would -believe you if you told them so. Your true <i lang="fr">poseur</i> -imposes acutely on himself, believing implicitly in his -own deceptions; but the discerning mind is ever swift -to catch an attitude, and never more so than when it -is struck before the Mirror of Charity.</p> - -<p>Consequently, when people tell me they go to the -War Zone in singleness of purpose, anxious only to -succour the stricken, I take leave to be incredulous. -The thing is impossible. Every one who isn't a slug -likes to go to the War Zone, every one who isn't an -animated suet-pudding wants to see a battlefield, or a -devastated village, or a trench, or a dug-out, and we -all want <i lang="fr">souvenirs de la guerre</i>, shell cases, bits of -bomb or shrapnel, the head of the Crown Prince on a -charger, or the helmet of a Death's Head Hussar. -And do we not all love adventure, and variety—unless -fear has made imbeciles of us, and the chance of -distinguishing ourselves, of winning the Legion of -Honour in a shell-swept village, or the Croix de Guerre -under the iron rain of a Taube?</p> - -<p>I believe we do, though few of us confess it. We<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> -prefer to look superior, to pretend we "care nothing -for all that," and so I cry, "Hypocrites! Search your -hearts for your motives and you will find them as -complex as the machinery that keeps you alive."</p> - -<p>Search mine for my motive and you will find it -compounded of many simples, but of their nature and -composition it is not for me to speak. Has it not -been written that I am a modest woman?</p> - -<p>And methinks indifferent honest. That is why I -am going to tell you about Villers-aux-Vents. You -must not labour under a delusion that life was all hard -work and no play in the War Zone.</p> - -<p>It was no high-souled purpose that led us to Villers. -It was just curiosity, common curiosity. Later on we -spent a night (Saturday night, of course) at Greux, and -visited the shrine of Jeanne D'Arc at Domremy, but -that was not out of curiosity. It was hero-worship -coupled with a passion for historical research.</p> - -<p>And we planned to go to Toul and Nancy. Now -when people make plans they should carry them out. -The gods rarely send the dish of opportunity round a -second time, and when the <i lang="fr">Carnet d'Étranger</i> chained -us body and soul to <i lang="fr">l'autorité compétente militaire</i> -there was no second time. The dish had gone by; it -would never come again.</p> - -<p>Wherefore I am wrath with the gods, and still more -wrath with myself, for I have not seen Nancy, and I -have not seen Toul, and if the old <i lang="fr">grognard</i> had been -in good humour I might even have gone to Verdun. -Maddening, isn't it? Especially as then, when our -work was only, so to speak, getting into its stride, we -might have virtuously spared the time. Later on -when it increased, and when we bowed to a <i lang="fr">Directrice</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> -who has found the secret of perpetual motion, we -worked Saturday, Sundays and all sometimes; but -in 1915 we were not yet super-normal men. We could -still enjoy a holiday. And so we decided to go to -Villers-aux-Vents. To go before winter had snatched -the gold mantle from the limbs of autumn, to go while -yet the sun was high and the long day stretched before -us, languorous, beautiful.</p> - -<p>And the manner of our going was thus, by train to -Révigny at 7.20 a.m., and then on foot over the road.</p> - -<p>Now it is written that if you get into a westward-bound -omnibus train at Bar-le-Duc, in fulness of time -you will arrive at Révigny. The train will be packed -with soldiers, so of course you travel first-or second-class, -thereby incurring a small measure of seclusion -and a larger one of boredom. In Class Three it is -never dull. You may be offered cakes or a hunk of -bread which has entered into unwilling alliance with -sausage, you may be invited to drink the health of the -Allies in rank red wine, or you may be offered a faithful -heart, lifelong adoration and an income of five sous a -day. Or (but for this you must keep your ears wide -open, for the train makes <i lang="fr">un bruit infernale</i>, and speech -is a rapid, vivacious, eager thing in France) you may -hear tales of the war, episodes of the trenches, comments -upon the method of the Boche, things many of -them hardly fit for publication but drawn naked and -quivering from the wells of life.</p> - -<p>Unless he has been refreshing a vigorous thirst, the -poilu is rarely unmanageable. He is the cheekiest -thing in the universe, he has a twinkle in his eye that -can set a whole street aflame, and he is filled with an -accommodating desire to go with you just as far as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> -you please. Nevertheless, he can take a hint quicker -than any man I know, and his genius in extricating -himself from a difficult situation is that of the inspired -tactician.</p> - -<p>Madame B., pursuing her philanthropic way, came -out of a shop one day to find a spruce poilu comfortably -ensconced in her carriage. With arms folded -and legs crossed he surveyed the world with conquering -eyes.</p> - -<p>"I am coming for a drive with you," he remarked -genially, and his smile was the smile of a seductive -angel, his assurance that of a king.</p> - -<p>"Au contraire," replied Madame B. (the poilu was -not for her, as for us, an undiscovered country bristling -with possibilities of adventure), and his abdication was -the most graceful recorded in history.</p> - -<p>Now, I wouldn't advise you to accept every offer of -companionship you get from a poilu, but you may -accept some. More than one tedious mile of road is -starred for me with memories of childlike, simple souls, -burning with curiosity about all things English, and -above all about the independent female bipeds who -have no apparent fear of man, God or devil, nor even—<i lang="fr">bien -entendu</i>—of that most captivating of all created -things, the blue-coated, trench-helmeted French soldier.</p> - -<p>"You march well, Mademoiselle; you would make a -fine soldier." Thus a voice behind me as I swung -homewards down the hill one chilly evening. A sense -of humour disarms me on these occasions. One day, -no doubt, it will lead me into serious trouble. I didn't -wither him. One soon learns when east winds should -blow, and when the sun, metaphorically speaking, may -shine. We walked amicably into Bar together, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> -before we parted he told me all about the little wife -who was waiting for him in Paris, and the fat baby -who was <i lang="fr">tout-à fait le portrait de son père</i>.</p> - -<p>So ponder long and carefully before you choose your -carriage, but if your ponderings are as long as this -digression you will never get to Révigny. Even an -omnibus train starts some time, and generally when -you least expect it.</p> - -<p>At Mussey if you crane your head out of the window -you may see two wounded German prisoners, white-faced, -mud-caked wretches who provoke no comment. -At Révigny you will see soldiers (if I told you how many -pass through in a day the Censor would order me to be -immersed in a vat of official ink); and you will see -ruins. The Town Hall is an eyeless skeleton leering -down the road, the Grande Place—there is no Grande -Place, there is only a scattered confusion of fire-charred -stones and desiccated brick.</p> - -<p>It was rather foggy that Sunday morning and the -town looked used up. Not an attractive place in its -palmiest days we decided as we slung our luncheon -bags over our shoulders and set out for Villers. Away -to the left we could see Brabant-le-Roi, and it was -there some weeks later that I assisted at the incineration -of a pig. He lay by the roadside in a frame of -blazing straw. Flames lapped his ponderous flanks, -and swept across his broad back, blue smoke curled -around him, an odour of roasting pig hung in the air. -A crowd of women and soldiers stood like devotees -about a shrine. The flames leaped, and fell. Then -came men who lifted him up and laid him on a stretcher. -In his neck there was a gaping wound, and out of the -fire that refined him he was no longer an Olympian<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> -sacrifice, he was mouldering pig, dead pig, black pig, -nauseating, horrible. I turned to fly, but a voice -detained me.</p> - -<p>"Madame Bontemps will be killing to-morrow. If -Mademoiselle would like to see?"</p> - -<p>But "to-morrow" Mademoiselle was happily far -on her way to Troyes, and the swan-song of Madame -Bontemps' <i lang="fr">gros cochon</i> fell on more appreciative ears.</p> - -<p>However, on that Sunday morning in September -there was no pig, and our "satiable curiosity" led us -far from poor battered Brabant. Our road was to the -right and "uphill all the way." The apple trees on -the Route Nationale were crusted with ripe red fruit, -but we resisted temptation, our only loot being a shell-case -which we discovered in a field, which was exceedingly -heavy and with which we weighted ourselves for -the sake of an enthusiastic youngster at home. My -arm still aches when I think of that shell-case, for by -this time the sun had burst out, it was torridly hot, -the apple trees gave very little shade, and our too, too -solid flesh was busily resolving itself into a dew.</p> - -<p>However, we persevered, the object of our pilgrimage -being a square hole dug in a sunny orchard on the -brow of the hill above Villers. Some rude earthen -steps gave access to it, the roof was supported by two -heavy beams, and the floor and sides were lined with -carved panels wrenched from priceless old <i lang="fr">armoires</i> -taken from the village. It is known as the Crown -Prince's Funk Hole, and the story goes that from its -shelter he ordered, and subsequently watched, the -destruction of the village. The dug-out, a makeshift -affair, the Crown Prince's tenancy being of short -duration, is well placed. The hill falls away behind<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> -it, running at right angles to the opening there is a -thick hedge, trees shelter it, the line of a rough trench -or two, now filled in, runs protectingly on its flank. -The fighting in this region was open, a war of movement -lasting only a few days, so trench lines are not -very plentiful. Just opposite the mouth of the dug-out -there is a fenced-in cross, a red <i lang="fr">képi</i> hangs on the -point, a laurel wreath tied with tri-coloured ribbon -is suspended from the arms. "An unknown French -soldier." Did he fall there in the rush of battle, or -did he creep up hoping to get one clean neat shot at -the Prince of Robbers and so put him out of action -for ever?</p> - -<p>As for Villers itself, it was wiped out of existence. -One house, and only one, remains, and even that is -battered. One might speculate a little on the psychology -of houses. The pleasant fire-cracker pastilles -that wrought so much havoc elsewhere were impotent -here. The Germans flung in one after another, we -were told, using every incendiary device at their -disposal, but that house refused to burn. There it -stands triumphantly in its tattered garden, not far from -the church, and when I saw it an old woman with a -reaping-hook in her hand was standing by the hedge -watching me with curious eyes. We had separated, -my companion and I, farther down the long village -street, she to meditate among the ruins, I to mourn -over the shattered belfry-tower, the bell hurled to the -ground, the splintered windows, the littered ruined -interior. In the cemetery were many soldiers' graves; -on one inscribed, "Two unknown German officers," -some one had scribbled "À bas les Boches," the only -instance that came to my knowledge of the desecration<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> -of a German grave. And even here contrition -followed fast upon the heels of anger, and heavy -scrawlings did their best to obliterate the bitter little -phrase. The French—in the Marne at least—have -been scrupulous in their reverence for the German -dead, the graves are fenced in just as French graves -are, and the name whenever possible printed on the -cross. I suppose that even the soppiest sentimentalist -would not ask that they should be decorated with -flowers?</p> - -<p>As I left the graveyard and looked back at the desolation -that once was Villers, but where even now wooden -houses were springing hopefully from the ground, the -old woman with the reaping-hook spoke to me. My -dress betrayed me; she knew without asking that I -was British. And, as is the way with these French -peasants, she fell easily and naturally into her story. -I wish I could tell it to you just as she told it to me, -but I know I shall never find her simple dignity of -phrase, or her native instinct for the <i lang="fr">mot juste</i>. However, -such as it is you shall have it, and if it please -you not, skip. That refuge is always open to the bored -or tired reader.</p> - - -<p class="center">II</p> - -<p>Old Madame Pierrot was disturbed in spirit. She -could see the flames leaping above burning villages -across the plain, the earth shook with the menace of -the guns, the storm was rising, every moment brought -the waves of the encroaching sea nearer to her home. -Yet people said that Villers was safe. The Germans<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> -could never get so far as that, they would be turned -back long before they reached the hill. She was alone -in her comfortable two-storied house (the house she -had built only a few years before, and which had a fine -yard behind it closed in by spacious stables, cow-houses -and barns), and she was sadly in need of advice. -She had no desire whatever to make the personal -acquaintance of any German invader. Even the -honour of receiving the Crown Prince made no appeal -to her soul. She had heard something of his arch -little ways and his tigerish playfulness, and though -she could hardly suppose that he would favour a woman -of her dried and lean years with special attention, she -reasonably feared that she might be called on to assist -at one of his festivals. And an Imperial degenerate -will do that in public which decent women are ashamed -to talk about, much less to witness. So Madame was -perturbed in soul. The battle raged through the woods -and over the plain, it crept nearer ... nearer....</p> - -<p>"Madame, Madame, come. Is it that you wish the -Germans to get you?" A wagon was drawn up at -the door, in it were friends who lived higher up the -street. "Come with us to Laimont. You will be -safer there."</p> - -<p>So they called to her and put an end to her doubt. -Snatching up a basket, she stuffed into it all the money -she had in the house, various family papers and documents, -and then, just as she was, in her felt-soled -slippers with her white befrilled cap on her head, in -her cotton dress without even a shawl to cover her, she -clambered into the wagon and set out. Laimont -was only a few miles away; indeed, I think you can see -the church spire and the roofs of the houses from the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> -hill. There the wagon halted. In a few hours the -Germans would be gone, and then one could go peaceably -home again. But time winged away, the battle -raged more fiercely than ever, soon perhaps Laimont -itself would be involved and see hand-to-hand fighting -in its streets.</p> - -<p>Laimont! Madame was <i lang="fr">desolée</i>. <i lang="fr">Où aller?</i> Farther -south, farther east? The Germans were everywhere. -And <i lang="fr">voyager comme ça</i> in her old felt slippers, -in her working clothes, without wrap or cloak to cover -her? Impossible. The wagon must wait. There -was still time. <i lang="fr">Ces salauds</i> would not reach Laimont -yet. Why, look! Villers itself was free. There was -no fire, no smoke rising on the hill. Her friends would -wait while she went back <i lang="fr">au grand galop</i> to put on her -boots, and her bonnet and her Sunday clothes. "Hé, -mon Dieu, it is not in the petticoat of the fields that -one runs over France."</p> - -<p>Away she went, her friends promising to wait for -her. Laden down by the shell, we who were lusty and -strong found the road from Villers to Laimont unendingly -long, yet no grisly fears gnawed at our heart-strings, -no sobs rose chokingly to be thrust back -again ... and yet again. Nor had we the hill to -climb, and no shells were bursting just ahead. So -what can it have been for Madame? But she pressed -on; old, tired and, oh, so dismayed, she panted up the -steep hill that curls into the village, and walked right -into the arms of the Crown Prince's men. In a trice -she was a prisoner, one of eighty, some of whom were -soldiers, the rest civilians, who, like herself, had committed -the egregious folly of being born west of the -Rhine, and were now about to suffer for it.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span></p> - -<p>What particular crime Villers-aux-Vents had committed -to merit destruction I cannot tell. Perhaps it -never committed any. The Crown Prince was not -always a minister of Justice promulgating sentence -upon crime. He was more often a Nero loving a good -red blaze for its own sake, or it may be an æsthete of -emotion, a super-sensualist of cruelty, or just a devil -hot from the stones of hell.</p> - -<p>Whatever the reason, Villers was doomed. Out -came the pastilles and the petrol-sprayers: the most -determined destruction was carried on. Not only -were the houses themselves destroyed but the outhouses, -the stables, solid brick and mortar constructions -running back to a depth of several feet. And I -gathered that the usual pillage inaugurated the reign -of fire.</p> - -<p>Of this, however, Madame knew nothing. She and -her seventy-nine companions in misery were marched -away to the north, mile after mile to Stenay, and if -you look at the map you will see that the distance is -not small, it was a march of several days.</p> - -<p>Madame, as I have told you, was old, and her slippers -had soles of felt, and so the time came when her feet -were torn and bleeding, and when, famished and exhausted, -she could no longer keep step with her guards. -Her pace became slower and slower. Ah, God, what -was that? Only the butt-end of a rifle falling heavily -across her back. She nerved herself for another effort, -staggered on to falter once more. Again the persuasion -of the rifle. Again the shrewd, cruel blow, and -a bayonet flashing under her eyes.</p> - -<p>A diet of black bread three times a day does not -encourage one to take violent exercise, but black bread<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> -was all that they got, and I think the rifle-butts worked -very hard during that long weary march.</p> - -<p>On arrival they were herded into a church and then -into a prison, where they were brutally treated at -first, but subsequently, when French people were put -in charge, found life a little less intolerable. And later -on some residents still living in the town were kind to -her, but during all the months—some eight or nine—that -she was imprisoned there she had no dress but the -one, nothing to change into, nothing to keep out the -sharp winter cold.</p> - -<p>Madame Walfard the basket-maker told me some -gruesome tales about Stenay, and what happened -there, but this is not a book of atrocities. Perhaps -it ought to be, perhaps every one who is in a position -to do so should cry aloud the story in a clear clarion -call to the civilised world, but—isn't the story -known? Can anything I have to say add a fraction -of a grain of weight to the evidence already collected? -Is the world even now so immature in its judgment -that it supposes that the men who sacked Louvain, -the men who violated Belgium behaved like gallant -gentlemen in the sunnier land of France? Do we not -know all of us that, added to the deliberate German -method, there was the lasciviousness of drunkenness? -That the Germans poured into one of the richest wine-growing -countries in the world during one of the hottest -months of the year, that their thirst at all times is a -mighty one, and when excited by the frenzy of battle -it was unassuageable? They drank, and they drank -again. They rioted in cellars containing thousands -of bottles of good wine, and they emerged no longer -men but demons, whose officers laughed to see them<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> -come forth, sure now that no lingering spark of human -or divine fire would hold them back from frightfulness.</p> - -<p>Of course we know it was so, and therefore I am -not going to dilate upon horrors. Let the kharma -of the Germans be their witness and their judge. Only -this in fairness should be told—that the behaviour of -the men varied greatly in different regiments. "It -all depended upon the Commandant," summed up -one narrator, "and the first armies were the worst."</p> - -<p>"And the Crown Prince's army?" I asked; "what -of that?"</p> - -<p>He shrugged. What can be expected from the -followers of such a leader? Their exploits put mediæval -mercenaries to shame.</p> - -<p>Stenay must find another historian; but even while -I refuse to become the chronicler of atrocities, every -line I write rises up to confute me. For was not the -very invasion of France an "atrocity"? Is the word -so circumscribed in its meaning that it contains only -arson, murder and rape? Does not the refinement of -suffering inflicted upon every refugee, upon every -homeless <i lang="fr">sinistré</i>, upon the basket-makers of Vaux-les-Palamies -as upon Madame Lassanne, and poor old -creatures like the Leblans fall within it too, and would -not the Germans stand convicted before the Tribunal -of such narratives even if the gross sins of the uncivilised -beast had never been laid at their door?</p> - -<p>Madame Pierrot told me nothing about Stenay—perhaps -she saw nothing but the inside of her prison -walls—but she told me a great deal about the kindness -of the Swiss when she crossed the frontier one happy -day, and the joy-bells were ringing in her heart. They -gave her food and drink, they overwhelmed her with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> -sympathy, they offered her clothes. But Madame -said no. She was a <i lang="fr">propriétaire</i>, she had good land in -Villers.</p> - -<p>"Keep the clothes for others, they will need them -more than I. In my house at Villers-aux-Vents there -are <i lang="fr">armoires</i> full of linen and underclothing, everything -that I need. I can wait."</p> - -<p>I often wonder whether realisation came to her at -Révigny, or whether, all ignorant of the tragedy, she -walked blithely up the hill, the joy-bells ringing their -Te Deum in her heart, her thoughts flitting happily -from room to room, from <i lang="fr">armoire</i> to <i lang="fr">armoire</i>, conning -over again the treasures she had been parted from so -long. Did she know only as she turned the last sharp -bend in the road and saw the village dead at her feet? -Ah, whether she knew as she trudged over the much-loved -road, or whether knowledge came only with -sight, what a home-coming was that! She found the -answer to the eternal question, "What shall we find -when we return?" ... How many equally poignant -answers still lie hidden in the womb of time to be -brought forth in anguish when at last the day of -restoration comes?</p> - - -<p class="center">III</p> - -<p>Even the longest story must come to an end some -time, and so did Madame Pierrot's. Conscience, tugging -wildly at the strings of memory, spoke to me of my -lost comrade; the instinct of hospitality asserted itself -in Madame's soul. We were strangers, we must see -the sights. Would I go with her to her "house," and -to the dug-out of the Crown Prince? Yes? <i lang="fr">Bon.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> -Allons.</i> And away we trotted to gather up the lost -one among the ruins, to inspect the dug-out, to eat -delicious little plums which Madame gathered for us -in the orchard, and finally to be seized by the pangs -of a righteous hunger which simply shrieked for food. -Where should we eat? Madame mourned over her -brick and rubble. If we had come before the war she -would have given us a <i lang="fr">déjeuner</i> fit for a king. A good -soup, an omelette, <i lang="fr">des confitures</i>, a cheese of the country, -coffee, but now? "Regardez, Mademoiselle. Ah que -c'est triste. Il n'y a rien du tout, du tout, du tout." -And indeed there was nothing but a mound of material -that might have been mistaken for road rubbish.</p> - -<p>Eventually she found a stone bench in the yard, -and there we munched our sandwiches while she -flitted away, to come back presently with bunches of -green grapes, sweet enough but very small. The vine -had not been tended for a year, it was running wild. -They were not what <i lang="fr">ces dames</i> should be given, but if -we would accept them? We would have taken prussic -acid from her just then, I believe, but fortunately it -did not occur to her to offer it. She cut us dahlias -from her ragged garden (once loved and carefully -tended), and hearing that one of us was a connoisseur -in shell-cases, bits of old iron and other gruesome relics, -rooted about until she found another shell-case, with -which upon our backs we staggered over to Laimont.</p> - -<p>And now let me hereby solemnly declare that if -any one ever dares to tell me that the French are -inhospitable I will smite him with a great and deadly -smiting. I am not trying to suggest that they clasped -us in their arms and showered riches upon us within -an hour of our meeting. They showed a measure of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> -sanity and caution in all their ways. They waited -to see what manner of men we were before they flung -wide their doors, but once the doors were wide the -measure of their generosity was only limited by the -extent of our need.</p> - -<p>Was it advice, an introduction to an influential -person, a string pulled here, a barrier broken down -there, Madame B. and Madame D. were always at our -service. Gifts of fruit and flowers came constantly -to our door, our <i lang="fr">bidons</i> were miraculously filled with -paraffin in a famine which we, being foolish virgins, had -not foreseen, or, foreseeing, had not guarded against, -and once in the heavy frost, when wood was unobtainable -in the town and the supply ordered from Sermaize -was over-long in coming, our lives were saved by a bag -of oak blocks which scented the house, and <i lang="fr">boulets</i> -that made the stove glow with magnificent ardour. -In every difficulty we turned to Madame B. She -helped us out of many an <i lang="fr">impasse</i>, and whether we -asked her to buy dolls in Paris or, by persuading a -General and his Staff that without our timely aid -France could never win the war, to reconcile an Army -Corps to our erratic activities in its midst, she never -failed us. When two of our party planned a week-end -shopping expedition to Nancy, it was Madame B. who -discovered that the inhabitants of that much-harassed -town were leading frozen lives in their cellars, and if -she was sometimes electrifyingly candid in her criticism, -she was equally unstinted in her praise. Madame D., -with her old-world courtesy, was no less hospitable, and -many a frantic S.O.S. brought her at top speed to our -door.</p> - -<p>From Monsieur C., who used to assure us that we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> -dispensed our gifts with a <i lang="fr">délicatesse</i> that was <i lang="fr">parfait</i>, -and Madame K. showering baskets of luscious raspberries, -to the poorest refugee who begged us to drink -a glass of wine with her, or who deeply regretted her -inability to make some little return for the help we -had given her, they outvied one another in refuting -the age-old libel on the character of the French.</p> - -<p>"But," cries some acidulated critic, "you would -have us believe that the poilu is a blue-winged angel, -and the civilian too perfect to live." Far from it. -The poilu is only a man, the civilian only human, and -I have yet to learn that either—be he man or human—is -perfect any more than he, or his equivalent is perfect -even in this perfect English island in the sea. There -are soldiers who.... There are civilians who....</p> - -<p>I guess the devil doesn't inject original sin into them -with a two-pronged hypodermic syringe any more than -he injects it into us. The good and the evil sprout -up together, or are they the spiritual Siamese twin -that is born of every one of us to be a perpetual confusion -to our minds, a bewilderment to our bodies -and a most difficult progeny to rear at the best of -times? For as surely as you encourage one of the -twins the other sets up a roar, sometimes they howl -together, sometimes one stuffs his fist down the other's -throat. And the bad one is hard to kill, and the good -one has a tendency to rickets. No wonder it is a -funny muddle of a world.</p> - -<p>And the French have their twin too, only theirs -say <i lang="fr">la-la</i> and ours say damn, and if they keep an over-sharp -eye on the sous, do we turn our noses up at excess -profits?</p> - -<p>Of course some of them are greedy, perhaps greedier<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> -on the whole than we are. Would any English village -lock its wells when thirsty children wailed at its door? -I know an Irish one would not. But the French are -thrifty, and the majority of them would live comfortably -on what a British family wastes. They work -hard too. They are incredibly industrious, perhaps -because they have to be.</p> - -<p>France has not yet been inoculated with the virus -of philanthropy, an escape on which she may possibly -be congratulated. The country is not covered with a -network of charitable societies overlapping and criss-crossing -like railway lines at a junction, nor have -French women of birth, independent means and superfluous -energy our genius for managing other people's -affairs so well there is no time to look after our own. -The deserving poor run no risk of being pauperised, -the undeserving don't keep secretaries, committees and -tribes of enthusiastic females labouring heavily at their -heels. The French family in difficulties has to depend -on its own resources, its own wit, its own initiative -and energy, and when I think of the way our refugees -dug themselves in in Bar-le-Duc, and scratched and -scraped, and hammered and battered at that inhospitable -soil till they forced a living from its breast, my -faith in philanthropy and the helping hand begins to -wane.</p> - -<p>Of course there are hard cases, where a little intelligent -human sympathy would transform suffering -and sorrow into contentment and joy, cases that send -me flying remorsefully back to the altar of organised -charity with an offering in outstretched hand, but -above all these, over all the agony of war the stern -independence of French character has ridden supreme.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span></p> - -<p>So let their faults speak for themselves. Who am -I that I should expose them to a pitiless world? Have -I not faults of my own? See how I have kept poor -Madame Pierrot gathering dahlias in her garden, and -my comrade in adventure eating grapes upon a very -stony seat. So long that now there is no time to tell -you how we walked to Laimont and investigated more -ruins there, and then how we walked to Mussey where -we comfortably missed our train, and how a Good -Samaritan directed us to a house, and how in the -house we found a little old lady whose son had been -missing since August 1914, and who pathetically -wondered whether we could get news of him, and how -a <i lang="fr">sauf-conduit</i> had to be coaxed from the Mayor, and -the little old lady's horse harnessed to a car, and how -two chairs were planted in the car and we superficially -planted on the chairs, and how the old lady and a -brigand clambered on to the board in front, and how -we drove down to Bar as the sun was setting. Nor -can I tell you how nearly we were run into by a motor-car, -nor how the old lady explained that the brigand -was <i lang="fr">malheureusement</i> nearly blind, and that she, still -more <i lang="fr">malheureusement</i>, was rather deaf, nor how we -prayed as we clung desperately to the chairs which -slid and wobbled and rocked and oscillated, and rattled -our bones while all the military motor-cars in France -sought our extermination.</p> - -<p>Nor can I tell you how at a dangerous crossing the -brigand drew up his steed, and set up a wail because -he had forgotten his cigarettes, nor how one escapading -female produced State Express which made him -splutter and cough, and nearly wreck us in the ditch -(though English tobacco is not nearly so strong as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> -French), nor how we came at last to Bar-le-Duc, nor -how the old lady demanded a ridiculously small fee -for the journey, nor how I lost a glove, and the sentries -eyed us with suspicion, and the brigand who was blind -and <i lang="fr">la patronne</i> who was deaf drove away in the fading -light to Mussey, the aroma of State Express trailing -out behind them, and the old horse plodding wearily -in the dust.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span></p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</a></h2> -</div> -<p class="center">THE MODERN CALVARY</p> - - -<p class="center">I</p> - -<p>One day, not long after our visit to the battlefield, -our composure was riven to its very foundations by -an invitation to play croquet in the garden of Madame -G. Could we spare an hour from our so arduous toil? -For her it would be a pleasure so great, the English -they love "le sport," they play all the games, we -would show her the English way. Monsieur her -husband he adored croquet, but never, never could he -find any one to play with him. Madame, a little -swarthy woman who always dressed in rusty black, -clasped her shiny kid gloves together and gazed at us -beseechingly. The Arbiter of our destinies decided -that we must go. There is always <i lang="fr">l'Entente</i>, you -know, it should be encouraged at all hazards, a sentiment -which meets with my fullest approval when the -hazard does not happen to be mine.</p> - -<p>Madame yearned that we should throw ourselves -into "le sport" at four, but the devil of malice, who -sits so persistently on my shoulder, arranged that I -should be the only one free at that hour. The others -promised to come at half-past four.</p> - -<p>"But, my dear women," I cried, "I haven't played -croquet for ages."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Never mind. Hit something, do anything. But go."</p> - -<p>I went. I was ushered into a tiny and stuffy parlour, -and there for twenty interminable, brain-racking -minutes I confronted Madame G. Then an old lady -in a bath-robe sidled into the room, and we all confronted -one another for ten minutes more. Madame -G. may be a devil of a fellow with a croquet-mallet -in her hand, but small talk is not her strong point. -Neither is it mine, for the matter of that, when I am -slowly suffocating in a foreign land. However, we -finally adjourned to the garden. Where, oh where -was the croquet ground? Where, oh where were my -faithless companions? Where, oh where was tea? A -quarter to five rang out from the tower of Nôtre Dame, -and here was I marooned on a French grass plot adorned -with trees, real trees, apple trees, plum trees, an -enterprising pergola, several flower-beds and, Heaven -help me! croquet hoops—hoops that had just -happened, all anyhow, no two looking in the same -direction. In direct line of fire rose a tall birch tree. -I gazed at it in despair. A niblick, or a lofter, or a crane -might get a ball over it, but a croquet mallet?... -Circumvention was impossible. There were three -bunkers.</p> - -<p>"It is like your English croquet grounds?" Madame -asked. "We play all the Sundays——"</p> - -<p>"Ah, yes, through the Looking-glass," I murmured, -and she responded—</p> - -<p>"Plaît-il?"</p> - -<p>I hastily congratulated her on the condition of her -fruit trees.</p> - -<p>Five o'clock. What I thought of the faithless was -by now so sulphuric, blue flames must have been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> -leaping out of me. Five-fifteen. A Sail! The -Arbiter, full of apologies, which did nothing to soften -the steely reproval in my eye. Then Madame disappeared. -At five-thirty she came back again accompanied -by delinquent number two. She held a hurried -consultation with the bath-robe, then melted again -into the void.</p> - -<p>"Can I go?" I signalled to the Arbiter. She shook -a vigorous head. The rattle of tea-cups was coming -from afar. At a quarter to six Madame announced -tea. It was served in the dining-room. We all sat -round a square table very solemnly—it was evidently -the moment of Madame's life; there was no milk, we -were expected to use rum—or was it gin?—instead. -Anyway I know it was white, and one of us tried it, -and I know ... well, politeness conquered, but she -has been a confirmed teetotaller ever since.</p> - -<p>At six-five Madame was weeping as she recounted -a tale she had read in the paper a day or so before, -and six-twenty-five we came away.</p> - -<p>"And we never played croquet after all. But you -will come again when Monsieur mon mari is here, for -Les Anglaises they love 'le sport.'"</p> - -<p>But we never went back. Perhaps the tree-tops -frightened us, or perhaps we were becoming too much -engrossed in sport of another kind. You see, M. le Curé -of N. came to visit us the next day, and soon after that -Madame Lassanne inscribed her name on our books. -Which shall I tell you about first? Madame Lassanne, -who was a friend of Madame Drouet, and actually -succeeded in making her talk for quite a long time on -the stairs one day? I think so.</p> - -<p>Perhaps to-morrow I shall tell you of M. Le Curé.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span></p> - -<p>You see, it was really Madame Lassanne who first -brought home to me what war means to the civil -population in an invaded district. One guessed it all -in a dim way before, of course, every imaginative -person does, but not in the way in which pain, desolation -of spirit, agony of soul, poignant anxiety drive -their roots deep down into Life; nor does one realise -how small a thing is human life, how negligible man -when compared with the great god of War.</p> - -<p>A French medical officer once said to me, -"Mademoiselle, in war les civiles n'ont pas le droit -d'être malade," and I dared to reply, "Monsieur, ils -n'ont guère le droit de vivre." And he assented, for -he knew, knew that to a great extent it was true, only -too pitiably true. For the great military machine -which exists in order that an unshakable bulwark may -be set up between the invader and the civilians whom he -would crush is, in its turn, and in order to keep that -bulwark firm, obliged to crush them himself. In the -War Zone (it is not too much to say it) the civilian is -an incubus, an impediment, a most infernal nuisance. -He gets so confoundedly in the way. And he is swept -out of it as ruthlessly as a hospital matron sweeps -dust out of her wards. That he is confused and bewildered, -thoroughly <i lang="fr">désorienté</i>, that he may be sick or -feeble, that his wife may be about to give birth to a -child, that his house is in ashes and that he, once -prosperous, is now a destitute pauper, that his children -trail pitifully in the dust, footsore, frightened, terror-haunted -to the very verge of insanity, all these things -from the military point of view matter nothing. And -it must be so. They dare not matter. If they did, -energies devoted to keeping that human bulwark in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> -the trenches fit and sound might be diverted into other -channels, and the effort to ameliorate and save become -the hand of destruction, ruining all in order to save a -little.</p> - -<p>Think of one village. There are thousands, and any -one will do. Anxiety and apprehension have lain -over it for days, but the inhabitants go about their -work, eat, sleep, "carry on" much as usual. Night -comes. It is pitch dark. The world is swathed in a -murky shroud. At two o'clock loud hammering is -heard, the gendarmes are going from house to house -beating upon the doors. "Get up, get up; in half -an hour you must be gone." Dazed with sleep, riven -with fear, grief slowly closing her icy fingers upon their -hearts, they stumble from their beds and throw on a -few clothes. They look round the rooms filled with -things nearly every one of which has a history, things -of no intrinsic value, but endeared to them by long -association, and it may be by memory of days when -Love and Youth went hand in hand to the Gates of -Romance and they opened wide at their touch. Things, -too, that no money can buy: old <i lang="fr">armoires</i> wonderfully -carved, old china, old pottery, handed down from -father to son, from mother to child for generations.</p> - -<p>What would one choose in such a moment as -that?</p> - -<p>"You can take nothing but what you can carry." -Nothing. The children clutch at hand and skirt. -How can Marie and Germaine and Jean and Robert -walk fifteen or twenty kilomètres to safety?</p> - -<p>The prudent snatch at their family papers, thrust a -little food into a bag and go out into the night. Others -gather up useless rubbish because it lies under their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> -hand. The gendarmes are growing impatient. They -round up their human flock as a dog rounds up his -sheep. Shells are beginning to fall here and there. -Some one has been killed—a child. Then a woman. -There are cries, a long moan of pain. But the refugees -must hurry on.</p> - -<p>"Vîte, vîte, depêchez-vous." They stumble down -the roads, going they know not whither, following the -lanes, the woods, even the fields, for the main road must -be kept clear for the army. Hunger, thirst, the torment -of an August day must be endured, exhaustion -must be combated. Death hovers over them. He -stoops and touches now one, now another with his -wings, and quietly they slip down upon the parched -and baking earth, for they are old and weary, and rest -is sweet after the long burden of the day.</p> - -<p>But even this is not all. One may believe that at -first, engulfed by the instinct of self-preservation, -tossed by the whirlwind from one emotion to another -and into the lowest pit of physical pain, the mind is too -confused, too stunned to realise the full significance -of all that is happening.</p> - -<p>But once in their new quarters, with the long days -stretching out ahead and the dark night behind, in -wretchedness, in bitter poverty, ah! then Thoughts, -Memories, Regrets and Infinite Lonelinesses throng -upon them, and little by little realisation comes and -at last they <span class="smcap">KNOW</span>.</p> - -<p>Know that the broken threads of life can never be -taken up again in the old good way. "On était si -heureux là-bas."<a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> How often I have heard that said! -"On vivait tout doucement. On n'était pas riche, ma<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> -fois, but <i lang="fr">we had enough</i>!" Poignant words those, in -Refugee-land.</p> - -<p>Added to the haunting dread of the future there is -always the ghost-filled dream of the past. Women -who have spoken with steady composure of the loss of -thousands of francs, of the ruin of businesses built up -through years of patient industry and hard work, of -farms—rich, productive, well-stocked—- laid waste and -bare, have broken down and sobbed pitifully when -speaking of some trivial intrinsically-valueless possession. -How our hearts twine themselves round these -ridiculous little things, what colour, what meaning they -lend to life!</p> - -<p>To lose them, ah, yes! that is bad enough; but -to know that hands stained with blood will snatch at -them and turn them over, and that eyes still bestial -with lust will appraise their value.... That is where -the sharpest sting lies. The man or woman whose -house is effaced by a shell is happy indeed compared -with those who have seen the Germans come, who have -watched the pillage and the looting and the sacrilege -of all they hold most dear.</p> - -<p>But the <i lang="fr">émigré's</i> cup must hold even greater sorrows -and anxieties than these. "C'est un vrai Calvaire que -nous souffrons, Mademoiselle." So they will tell you, -and it is heartbreakingly true. Crucified upon the iron -cross of German ambition, they pray daily that the cup -may be taken from them, but the mocking god of -War still holds it to their lips. They must drink it -even to the very dregs.</p> - -<p>For not always could all the members of a family -get away together. It has been the fate of many to -remain behind, to become prisoners in the shadowed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> -land behind the trenches, at the mercy of a merciless -foe. Between them and their relatives in uninvaded -France no direct communication can be established. -An impenetrable shutter is drawn down between. -Only at rare intervals news can come, and that is when -a soldier son or father or other near relative becomes a -prisoner of war in Germany. A French woman in the -<i lang="fr">pays envahi</i> may write to a prisoner in Germany, and -he to her. He may also write to his friends in the free -world beyond. And so it sometimes happens that -news trickles through, but very rarely. The risk -is tremendous, detection heavily punished. Only -oblique reference can be indulged in, and when one has -heard nothing for months, perhaps years, how meagre -and unsatisfying that must be. Do we in England -realise what it means? I know I did not before I met -Madame Lassanne, and only very inadequately as I -sat in the kitchen of the Ferme du Popey and listened -to her story.</p> - - -<p class="center">II</p> - -<p>She was the daughter of one farmer, the wife of -another and successful one, the richest in their district, -so people said. When the war broke out her husband -was mobilised, she with her three children, a girl of -four, a boy of two and a month-old baby, remaining -at the farm with her father and mother. A few days, -perhaps a week or two passed, then danger threatened. -Harnessing their horses to the big farm wagons, she -and the old man packed them with <i lang="fr">literie</i>, <i lang="fr">duvets</i>, -furniture, food, clothes, everything they could find -room for, and prepared to leave the village. But the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> -gendarmes forbade it. I suppose the road was needed -for military purposes: heavy farm wagons might -delay the passage of the troops. Throughout the -whole of one day they waited. Still the barrier was -not withdrawn. Shells began to rain on the village; -first one house, then another caught fire.</p> - -<p>"You may go." The order came at last. The -children, with their grandmother and an aunt of the -Lassannes, were placed in the wagons and the little -procession set out; but they were not destined to go -far that day. At the next village the barrier fell again. -Believing that the Germans were following close behind, -they held hasty consultation, as the result of which the -old women decided to walk on with the children, -leaving M. Breda and Madame to follow as soon as -the way was clear.</p> - -<p>So the horses and wagons were put into a stable, -and Madame and her father sat down to wait. The -slow hours ticked away, a shell screamed overhead, -another, then another. Soon they were falling in -torrents on the little street. Houses began to crash -down, the stable caught fire, the four horses and the -wagons were burned to a cinder. Then the house in -which the refugees had sheltered was struck. They -escaped by a miracle, crawling on hands and knees. -So terrific was the bombardment they dared not go -down the road. A barrage of shell-fire played over -it. With some dozens of others as miserable as themselves -they lay all night in a furrow in a beet-field, -Madame trembling in her father's arms, for shells were -falling incessantly on the field and all around them. -At dawn the hurricane ceased, and they crept away. -The road was open now, they were on foot. They<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> -walked fast, then faster, hoping every minute to overtake -the children. The old women surely could not -have gone very far. But mile after mile was conquered -and no news of them could be found. No -sentries had seen them, no gendarme had watched -them go by. They asked every one they met on the -road, at first hopefully, then, as fear grew, with clutching -hands and fevered eyes. But the answer was -always the same. They had not passed that way. -Chance, Fate, call it what you will, brought Madame -and the old man to Bar-le-Duc, and there, soon after -her arrival, she heard that her husband had been -wounded in the earliest of the fighting and was now a -prisoner in Germany. A prisoner and ill. Day after -day dragged by. She found employment on the farm -near the town, she made inquiries, exhausted every -channel of information, but no trace of the children -could be found.</p> - -<p>And her husband, writing from Germany, demanded -news of them! He did not know that the farm was -demolished, and that she was beggared. He asked for -parcels, for comforts. She sent them to him, by what -supreme effort of self-denial only she and the God she -prayed to know. And she wrote him little notes, gay, -brave little notes. She told him all about the children—how -fat and how strong they were.... And Marie—ah, -Marie was growing tall—so tall.... And Roger -was able to talk now....</p> - -<p>God only knows what it cost her to write those letters; -God only knows with what agony she forced her tears -back to their source lest one, falling on the paper, -betray her. She went about her work white-faced and -worn, hungering for the news that never came, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> -autumn faded into winter and spring was born and -blossomed into summer, and then, and then only, did -the shutter lift and a tiny ray of light come through.</p> - -<p>Confused and frightened, the old women, burdened -with the children, had lost their way in the darkness -and wandered back into the German lines. They were -now prisoners in Carignan (near the frontier); they -managed to smuggle a letter through. The baby was -dead. There was no milk to be had, so it died of -starvation. Madame Breda had been offered freedom. -If she wished she would be sent back into France -through Switzerland. But the children's names were -not on the list of those selected for repatriation.</p> - -<p>"Could they go with her?"</p> - -<p>"No."</p> - -<p>"Eh bien, j'y reste."</p> - -<p>The shutter snapped down again, the veil enclosed -them, and Madame resigned herself to the long, weary -waiting.</p> - -<p>Was it any wonder that such stories as this—and -there were all too many of them—filled us with hatred -of everything German? In those first months of -personal contact with war we were always at white -heat, consumed with rage and indignation, and for -my own part, at least, desirous of nothing less than the -extermination of kultur and every exponent of it. As -I walked home through the quiet afternoon, dark -thoughts filled my mind. What a monster one can be! -What longing for vengeance even the mildest of us can -cherish! I thought of another village not far from -that of Madame Lassanne's home, from which three -hundred people had been driven into virtual slavery. -Nearly all were old—over sixty, some few were boys<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> -and girls of fourteen, sixteen, eighteen, and of the old, -eighty died in the first six months.</p> - -<p>It was a long time now since any news had come -through, and those who waited had almost given up -hope of seeing their loved ones again.</p> - -<p>And we were impotent. With an effort I shook off -despondency. I would go and see Madame Leblan -and rest a while in her garden. She was lonely and -loved a little visit. It would amuse her to hear about -the Curé and our visit to N.; any gossip would serve to -drive away her memories. "Ça change les idées," -she would say. "It is not well to sit and brood."</p> - -<p>Neither is it well to walk and brood; yet here was -I, foolish virgin that I was, brooding like a moulting -hen. Taking myself firmly in hand, I turned down the -rue de L'Étoile and opened the garden gate.</p> - - -<p class="center">III</p> - -<p>Madame was only a poor peasant woman, but she -had once been very beautiful, and the old face was -handsome still. The aquiline features are well-modelled, -the large blue eyes clear and steady, flashing -now with a fine pride, now with delicious humour; the -head is well poised, she is essentially dignified; there -are times when she has the air of a queen.</p> - -<p>Her husband is tall and thin, with a drooping moustache, -and in accordance with prevailing custom he -keeps his hat on in the house, and he is seventy-two -and she is seventy, and when I saw her first she was in -her quaint little garden sitting under the shade of a -mirabelle tree with an ancient dame to whom only -Rembrandt could have done justice. Like Madame,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> -she was short and broad, and without being handsome, -she was just bonny. She had jolly little eyes and a -chubby, dimpled face, and wore a spotlessly white and -befrilled cap with strings that tied under her chin and -made you rather want to kiss her. She was just a -little <i lang="fr">coquette</i> in her appearance, and she must have -been born in prehistoric times, for she was "la tante de -Madame Leblan." She didn't live in the little cottage, -she had a room just across the way, and there I would -see her sitting in the sun on a fine day as I turned in -at the garden gate.</p> - -<p>Of course we went down before her, and gave her of -our best, for she was an irresistible old thing, who -could coax you into cyclonic generosity. She would -come trotting over to see us with a small basket on -her arm, and having waited till the crowd that besieged -our morning hours had melted away, would come upstairs -looking so innocent and so picturesque our hearts -were as water before her. And then out of the basket -would come apples, or pears, or walnuts, with a honeyed -phrase, the little vivid eyes searching our own. Refusal -was out of the question, we were in the toils, knowing -that for Madame we were the sun in the heavens, the -down on the wings of the Angel of Life; knowing, too, -that surely as she turned away would come the tactful -hint, the murmured need. And though periodically -we swore that she should have no more, she rarely -went empty away.</p> - -<p>At last, because of the equality of things, we hardened -our hearts. She returned with walnuts. Our -thanks being meticulously verbal, she retreated thoughtfully, -to reappear a few days later with three pears -and a remote <i lang="fr">malaise</i> that successfully defied diagnosis.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> -We knew she had her eyes on medical comforts, eggs, -<i lang="fr">bons</i> for meat, etc., so the <i lang="fr">malaise</i> deceived no one, -while a cold gift of aspirin tabloids nearly destroyed -her faith in humanity.</p> - -<p>And all the time she was "rich"! No wonder she -was <i lang="fr">coquette</i>, she could afford to be, for she had small -<i lang="fr">rentes</i>, and money laid by, and had saved all her papers -and her bank-book. So Madame Leblan, who had -left home with exactly twenty-seven francs in her -pocket, told me, but not, loyally enough, until she was -sure that our gifts to La Tante had ceased.</p> - -<p>She herself never asked for anything, save once, -and that was for a <i lang="fr">paletot</i> for Monsieur. In spite of -his three-score-years-and-twelve, in spite of the severe -attack of internal hæmorrhage from which he was -recovering, he went to work every morning at six, -returning at six at night. Hard manual toil it was, -too, much too hard for a man of his years. How -Madame fretted over him! How she scraped and saved -to buy him little comforts. And he did need that coat -badly. I think I shall never forget her face when she -saw the warm Cardigan jacket the Society provided -for him. Her eyes filled with tears, she flushed like a -girl, she looked radiantly beautiful and then, with the -most gracious diffidence in the world, "You will permit -me?" she said, and drew my face down to hers.</p> - -<p>There was something about that old creature that -made me feel ashamed. What one did was so pitifully -little, but she made it seem like a gift of star-flowers -bathed in the dews of heaven. It was her unconquerable -sense of humour that attracted me to her, I suppose. -French wit playing over the fields of life with -an indomitable spirit that would not be broken.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span></p> - -<p>When she was a girl her father used to say to her, -"You sing too much, some day you will cry," but -though the tears did come she never lost her gaiety -of heart. When she married she was very poor; -Monsieur's father had been foolish, loving wine, and -they had to make their own way in the world, but she -held her head high and did her best for her boys. It -should never be said of them that they were educated -at the cow's tail (à la queue des bêtes). Her pride came -to her aid, and perhaps much of her instinctive good -breeding too. <i lang="fr">Le fils</i> in the Garde Republicaine in -Paris has much of his mother's manner.</p> - -<p>Leaving the cottage was a terrible wrench. They -packed a few odds-and-ends into a bundle, and she -tidied everything, saying farewell to the little treasures -they had collected in forty-odd years. Silently they -locked the doors behind them, her eyes dry, the -catastrophe too big for tears. But in the garden -Monsieur paused. "Les bêtes," he said; "we mustn't -leave them to starve. Open the cow-house door and -let them go free." As she turned to obey him her feet -faltered, the world swam in a mist of tears. She thrust -the key blindly into his hands and stumbled like a -drunken woman down the road.</p> - -<p>Then for six weeks they trudged together. They -slept in fields, in the woods, under carts, in barns, -they were drenched with rain and with dew, they were -often hungry and thirsty and cold. But they struggled -on until they came to Vavincourt, and there the owner -of the little house in Bar met them, and seeing what -manner of people they were, lent it to them rent free -on condition that they looked after the garden. How -grateful Madame was, but how intensely she longed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> -for home! How wistfully she turned her eyes northward -across the hills! How often the question, When? -trembled half spoken on her lips! What mattered it -that home was a ruin and she penniless? Just to be -in the valley again, to see the sun gleaming on the -river.</p> - -<p>To help the time to pass less sluggishly by we had -invented a little tale, a tale of which I was the unworthy -heroine, and the hero an unknown millionaire. The -millionaire with gold <i lang="fr">jusqu'au plafond</i>, who was obligingly -waiting for me beyond the sea, and who would -come some day and lay his heart, his hand, and his -gold-mine at my feet. And then a <i lang="fr">petit palais</i> would -spring miraculously from that much-loved rubbish-heap -at Véry, and one day as Madame and <i lang="fr">le patron</i> -stood by the door, they would see a great aeroplane -skimming through the sky, it would swoop and settle, -and from it would leap the millionaire and his blushing -bride. And Madame would lead them in and give -them wine and coffee and a salad and <i lang="fr">saucissons de -Lorraine</i>, which are better and more delicious than any -other <i lang="fr">saucissons</i> in all the wide world.</p> - -<p>Only a foolish little story, but when one is old and -one's heart is weary it is good to be foolish at times, -good to spin the sun-kissed webs, good to leave the -dark chamber of despair and stray with timid feet over -the gleaming meadows of hope.</p> - -<p>Her greeting rarely varied. "Je vous croyais -morte," a reproach for the supposed infrequency of -my visits. She cried it now, though scarcely a week -had sped since I saw her last, and then with mysterious -winks and nods she hobbled into the house, to return -a few minutes later with two or three bunches of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> -grapes and some fine pears. "Pendant la guerre tous -les scellés sont levés,"<a name="FNanchor_6_6" id="FNanchor_6_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> she laughed, but I knew she -had not robbed her benefactor. The fruit she kept -<i lang="fr">en cachette</i> for us, she and M. Leblan deprived themselves -of, nor could any remonstrance on our part -stay her.</p> - -<p>"Where is your basket?" She had ordered me to -bring one on my next visit, yet here was I, most perplexingly -without. But the fruit must be carried home. -She had no basket, no paper. <i lang="fr">Méchante</i> that I was, -to come without that basket. Had not she, Madame, -commanded it? In vain I refused the gift. She was -inexorable.</p> - -<p>"Ah, I have it." She seized me with delighted hands, -and it was then that the uniform earned my bitterest -reproach, for into its pockets, whose size suggested -that they were originally intended to hold the guano -and rabbits of agricultural relief, went the pears. -One might as well argue with a megatherium as with -Madame when her mind was made up. So I had to -stand in the kitchen growing bulkier and bulkier, with -knobs and hillocks and boulders and tussocks sprouting -all over me, feeling like a fatted calf, and longing for -kindly darkness to swallow me up. Subsequently I -slunk home by unfrequented ways, every yard of which -seemed to be adorned with a gendarme taking notes. -I am convinced that I escaped arrest and decapitation -only by a miracle, and that every dog in the town -bayed at my heels.</p> - -<p>My agonies, needless to say, met with scant sympathy -from my companions. They accused me of flirting with -M. Leblan, even while they dug greedy teeth into the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> -pears, an accusation it was difficult to refute when -he called at the house one evening and, hearing that I -was out, refused to leave a message, but turned up later -and demanded an interview with such an air of mystery -Madame came to call me fluttering so we thought the -President of the Republic must be at the door.</p> - -<p>Still more difficult was it to refute when Monsieur -had gone away, leaving me transfixed on the stairs -with two huge bottles of mirabelle plums in my hands. -I never dared to tell the three villains who made life -such a happy thing on the Boulevard de la Rochelle -that Monsieur was wont to say that if only he were -twenty years younger he ... he.... Can you guess -what he?...</p> - -<p>Madame did. She knew, and used to tease me about -it. She is one of the few people in the world who know -that I still can blush! Do you? No? Ah, but then -you have never seen Monsieur! You have never heard -him say what he ... what he ... well, you know -what he....</p> - -<p>There were no dark thoughts in my mind as I sped -circuitously homewards, skimming down a by-street -every time a gendarme loomed in view; I was thinking -of Madame and of the twinkle in her eyes when she -talked of <i lang="fr">le patron</i>, and of the long day spent at N., -the story of which had helped to drive away for the -moment the most persistent of her <i lang="fr">idées noires</i>.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span></p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX</a></h2> -</div> -<p class="center">IN WHICH WE BECOME EMISSARIES OF LE BON DIEU</p> - - -<p>Now the coming of M. le Curé was in this wise.</p> - -<p>We were making up <i lang="fr">paquets</i> in the Clothes-room, we -were grimy, dishevelled and hot, we were in no mood -for visitors, we were pining for tea, and yet Madame -insinuated her head round the door and announced, -"M. le Curé de N." She would have announced -the Czar of Russia, or President Wilson, or General -Joffre, or the dustman in exactly the same emotionless -tones, and with as little consideration for our feelings.</p> - -<p>"You go."</p> - -<p>"No. You."</p> - -<p>The tug of war ended, as such tugs generally do, in -our going together, smoothing hair that flew on end, -flinging overalls into a corner and praying hastily that -the Curé might be an unobservant man. He was. -There was only one vision in the world for him; the -air, the atmosphere, life itself were but mirrors reflecting -it; but conceding that it was a large one, we found some -excuse for his egoism. Large? Massive. He was -some inches over six feet in height and his soutane -described a wide arc in advance. His hands were thick -and cushiony, you felt yours sink into their pneumatic -fastnesses as you greeted him; he had a huge head, -very little hair, a long heavy jowl, small eyes, and -he breathed fatly, thickly. His voice was slightly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> -smothered. Many years ago he had retired from his -ministry, living at N. because he owned property there, -but the war, which called all priests of military age and -fitness to the colours, drew him from his life of ease -and put the two villages, N. and R., under his spiritual -charge. His gestures were large and commanding, -he exuded benevolence—the benevolence of a despot. -There would be no divided authority in the Curé's -kingdom. It was not a matter for surprise to hear -that he was not on speaking terms with his mayor, -it would have been a matter for surprise if, had he been -Pope, he had ever relinquished his temporal power.</p> - -<p>He wasted little time on the usual preliminaries, -plunging directly into his subject. At N. and R. -there were refugees, <i lang="fr">pauvres victimes de la guerre dans -la grande misère</i>, sleeping on straw <i lang="fr">comme des bêtes</i>, cold, -half-clothed, in need of every necessary. He had -heard of us, of our generosity (he called us "mes -bonnes dames," with just a hint of condescension in -his manner), he wished us to visit his people. Wished? -He commanded. He implied, by an art I had not -thought him capable of, that we were yearning to visit -them, that our days would be storm-tossed, our nights -sleepless unless we brought them relief. From mendicant, -he transformed himself into benefactor, bestowing -on us an opportunity which—it is due to our reputation -to suggest—we craved.</p> - -<p>It was well that our inclination jumped with his -desire, for he was quite capable of picking us up, one -under each arm, and marching off with us to N., had -we refused. But how refuse in face of such splendid -faith in our goodwill, and under a shower of compliments -that set us blushing to the tips of our toes?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> -We punctuated the flood or shower with murmurs of, -"C'est un plaisir," or, "On ne demande pas mieux." -We felt like lumbering elephants as we tried to turn -aside his flattery, but he merely waved a benediction -and swept on. We would go to N. next Wednesday; -he, Monsieur, would meet us, and conduct us personally -over the village. He would tell us who were the good -Catholics—not that he wished to deprive the careless or -sinful of our help; still, it would be as well for us to -know. We read "preferential treatment" on this -sign-post, and carefully reserved our opinion. When -the visits were over, we would go to his house and eat -an <i lang="fr">œuf à la coque</i> with him, and some <i lang="fr">confitures</i>. His -modest establishment ... a gesture indicated an -ascetic régime, the bare necessities of life, but if we -would accept?...</p> - -<p>"With pleasure, if Monsieur was sure it would not -inconvenience him."</p> - -<p>"Mes bonnes dames," he replied grandly, "rien ne -me dérange dans le service du bon Dieu."<a name="FNanchor_7_7" id="FNanchor_7_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a></p> - -<p>Of course it rained on Wednesday—rained quietly, -hopelessly, despairingly, but persistently. Nevertheless -we set out, chiefly—so great was Monsieur's faith -in us—because it did not seem possible to remain at -home. We put on the oilskins which, with the uniform, -we had been led to understand would save our lives in -France, but the sou'westers we did not wear. There -are limits. And when later on we saw a worker clad -in both, we did not know which to admire most, -the courage which enabled her to wear them, or the -utter lack of imagination which prevented her from -realising their devastating effect.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span></p> - -<p>So we left the sou'westers on the pegs from which -they were never taken, and arrived at N. in black shiny -oilskins that stood out stiffly like boards from our -figures, and were almost as comfortable to wear. We -were splashed with mud, and we dripped audibly on -the Curé's beautiful parquet floor.</p> - -<p>We wished to begin at once? <i lang="fr">Bon. Allons.</i> He, -the Curé, had prepared a list, the name of every refugee -was inscribed on it. Oh, yes, he understood <i lang="fr">parfaitement</i>, -that to make <i lang="fr">paquets</i> we must know the age and -sex of every individual. All was prepared. We would -see how perfect the arrangements were.</p> - -<p>No doubt from his point of view they were perfect, -but from ours chaotic. We climbed the village street, -he like a frigate in full sail, his wide cloak gathered -about him, leading the way, we like two rather disreputable -punts towing along behind. You know what -happened at the first house—that illuminating episode -of the <i lang="fr">seau hygiénique</i>? Worse, oh, much worse was to -befall us later! He discussed the possibilities of family -crockery with a bluntness that was conducive to -apoplexy, he left nothing to the imagination; perhaps -he thought the Britishers had no imagination.</p> - -<p>In fact, his methods were sheerly cyclonic. Never -had we visited in such a whirl. Carried along in his -wake, we were tossed like small boats upon a wind-tormented -sea; we had no time to make notes, we had -no time to ask questions, and when we had finished we -had scarcely one clear idea in our minds as to the state, -social position, profession, income, or need of those we -had visited. Not a personal note (we who made copious -personal notes), not a detail (we who had a passion for -detail), only a blurred memory of general misery, or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> -rooms behind cow-houses and stables, through the -filthy, manure-soddened straw of which we had to pick -our way, or rooms without glass in the window-frames, -of dark, noisome holes where human beings herded, of -sacks of straw laid on the floor, of rags for bedding, -of human misery in its acutest, most wretched form. -The Curé talked of evil landlords who exploited these -unfortunate people, "Mais Dieu les punira," he added -unctuously. We wondered if the prophecy brought -consolation to the refugees. And above all the welter -of swiftly-changing impressions, I can see even now, in -a dark room lighted only by or through the chimney-shaft, -a room filled with smoke that choked and blinded -us, a small child, perhaps eighteen, perhaps twenty-four -months old, who doubled her fists into her eyes and laid -her head on her grandmother's shoulder, refusing to -look up.</p> - -<p>"She has been like that since the bombardment," -her mother explained.</p> - -<p>When the priest raised the little head the child wailed, -a long, thin, almost inhuman wail; when her grandmother -put her down she lay on the floor, her eyes -crushed against her fists.</p> - -<p>"She will not look at the light, nor open her eyes."</p> - -<p>"How long has she been like this, Madame?"</p> - -<p>"Since we left home. The village was shelled; it -frightened her."</p> - -<p>"We will ask our <i lang="fr">infirmière</i> to look after her," we -promised, knowing that the nurse in question had -successfully treated a boy in Sermaize who had been -unable to open his eyes since the bombardment of the -town. And some weeks later we heard that the baby -was better.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span></p> - -<p>Into every house the Curé made his way, much as -Justice Shallow might have done. In every house he -reeled off a set piece about the good English who had -come to succour France in her distress, about our -devotion, our courage, our wealth, our generosity. -He asked every woman what she needed. "Trois -couvertures? Bon. Mettons trois. Un seau? Bon, -mettons un seau. Sheets? Put down two pairs."</p> - -<p>We put down everything except what we most desired -to know, the names and ages of the half-clothed children—that -he gave us no opportunity of doing, was there -not always the list?—we saw the Society being steered -rapidly towards bankruptcy, but, mesmerised by his -twinkling eyes, we promised all he required. Then he, -who had been sitting on the only chair, would rise up, -and having told the pleased but bewildered lady of the -house that we were emissaries of Le bon Dieu, would -stalk out, leaving us to wonder, as we followed him, -whether Madame ever asked why the good God chose -such strange-looking messengers. The oilskins were -possessed of no celestial grace—I subsequently gave -mine to a refugee.</p> - -<p>Luncheon! The good Curé stopped dead in his -tracks. The <i lang="fr">œuf à la coque</i> was calling. Back we -trailed, still dripping, still muddy, even more earthly -and less celestial than before, back to the house that -had such a delicious old garden, and where fat rabbits -grew daily fatter in their cages. The table was spread -in a panelled room hung with exquisite old potteries. -Seated solemnly, the Curé trying to conceal himself -behind a vast napkin, the end of which he tucked under -his collar, to us entered the <i lang="fr">bonne</i> carrying six boiled -eggs in a bowl. Being sufficiently hungry, we each<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> -ate two; they were more or less liquid, so Monsieur -tilted up the egg-shell and drank his down with gulping -noises, while we laboured unsatisfyingly with a spoon. -Then came the <i lang="fr">bonne</i> with a dish of grilled rabbit (it -was delicious); we ate rabbit. Then came a large dish -of beans; we ate beans. We were sending out wireless -messages by this, but no relief ship appeared on the -horizon. The priest groaned over the smallness of -our appetites, and shovelling large masses of beans -into his mouth, explained that it is sinful to drink too -much because the effects are demoralising, depraving, -bringing ruin on others, but one may eat as much or -more than one wants or likes, as a superfluity of food -does no harm. A little physical discomfort, perhaps, -but that passes. Injury to the spirit? None.</p> - -<p>Then he commented on the strides Roman Catholicism -was making in England, the most influential people -were being converted—we thought he must be apologising -to himself for his country's alliance with a people -of heretical creed, but later on I realised that this idea -is very prevalent among the priests of the district. An -old man at Behonne congratulated me on the same good -tendency. It had not occurred to him that I was of -another faith, so there was an awkward moment when I—as -in honour bound—admitted the error, but he -glided over it with characteristic politeness, and our -interview ended as amicably as it began.</p> - -<p>At N. we volunteered the information that I was Irish, -which shed balm on the Curé's perturbed soul. Though -not of the right way of thinking, one of us came of a -nation that was. That, at least, was something, and a -compliment to the evangelising Irish saints of mediæval -times—had not one of them settled in the district,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> -teaching the people and bringing the Gospel-light into -paths shadowed by infidelity?—steered us round what -might have been an awkward corner.</p> - -<p>The beans finished, there came a cheese of the -country, rich and creamy and good. We ate cheese, -but we no longer looked at each other. The cheese -finished, in came a massive cherry tart; we ate tart, -then we drank coffee, and then Monsieur, rising from -the table, opened the door, stood in the hall and -said —— No. I think I had better not tell you what -he said, nor where he waved us to. If ever you go to N. -and have a meal with him you will find out for yourself. -During lunch one of us admired his really very beautiful -plates. "You shall have one," he said, and taking -two from the wall, offered us our choice. Of course we -refused, and the relief we read in his eye as he hung them -up again in no way diminished our appreciation of his -action.</p> - -<p>Then we paid more visits, and yet more, and more, -and finally, the rain having cleared, we walked home -again in a balmy evening down the wide road under the -communal fruit trees, where the woods which clothed -the hill-side were to look like wonderful tapestry later -on, when autumn had woven her mantle of russet and -red, and dull dark crimson, and sober green, and browns -of rich, light-haunted shades and flung it over the trees. -Walked home soberly, as befitted those who had dined -with a gourmand; walked home expectantly, for was -not the list, the careful, exhaustive, all-comprehensive -list of the Curé to follow on the morrow?</p> - -<p>It was and it did, and with it came the following -letter which we perused with infinite delight. How, -oh, how could he say that the miry, inarticulate bipeds<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> -who trotted dog-like at his heels did their work <i lang="fr">avec -élicatesse</i>? How, oh, how aver that we did it under -his "modest" guidance?</p> - -<p>Yet he said it. Read and believe.</p> - -<blockquote> -<p> -"Mesdames, et excellentes dames,<br /> -</p> - -<p>"J'ai l'honneur de vous offrir l'hommage de -mes sentiments les plus reconnaissantes et les plus -devoués pour tout le bien que vous faites autour de -vous avec tant de délicatesse et de générosité. Je prie -Dieu de vous benir, vous et tous les membres de vos -chères families, de donner la victoire aux vaillantes -armées de l'Angleterre, de Russie, et de France et n'y -avons nous pas le droit car vous et nous nous representons -bien la civilisation, l'honneur et la vraie religion. -Je vous envoie ci-joint la liste (bien mal faite) des -pauvres émigrés que vous avez visités sous ma modeste -direction. Il en est qui manque de linge et pour les -vieux qui out besoin de vêtements on pourra leur donner -l'étoffe, ils se changeraient de la confection ce qui je -crois serait meilleur.</p> - -<p>"Veuillez me croire votre tout devoué."</p></blockquote> - -<p>The list was by no means all comprehensive, it was -not careful, it was indeed <i lang="fr">bien mal faite</i>, and it exhausted -nothing but our patience. Our own demented notes -were the best we had to work upon, and so it befell -that one day some soldiers drove a vast wagon to our -door and in it we piled, not the neat <i lang="fr">paquets</i> of our -dreams, but blankets, sheets, men's clothes, women's -clothes, children's clothes, <i lang="fr">seaux</i> and other needful -things and sent them off to N., where they were dumped -in a room, and where an hour or two later, under<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> -conditions that would have appalled the stoutest, we -fitted garments on some three hundred people, while -M. le Curé smiled wide approval and presented every -<i lang="fr">émigré</i> child in the village with a cap, a bonnet or a hat -filched from our scanty store.</p> - -<p>And then because the sun was shining and several -batteries of <i lang="fr">soixante-quinze</i> were <i lang="fr">en repos</i> in the -village, we went off to inspect them. The guns were -well hidden from questing Taubes under orchard trees, -the men were washing at the fountain, or eating a -savoury stew round the camp kitchen, or flirting -desperately with the women. They showed us how to -load and how to train a gun, and then the priest, whom -they evidently liked, for he had a kindly "Hé, mon -brave, ça va bien?" or an affectionate fat-finger-tap -on the shoulder for them all, bore us off to visit an -artillery officer who had been doing wonderful things -with a <i lang="fr">crapouillot</i>. We found him in a beautiful garden -in which, on a small patch of grass, squatted the -<i lang="fr">crapouillot</i>, a torpedo fired from a frame fixed in the -ground. Alluding to some special bomb under discussion, -the lieutenant said, "It isn't much, but this—oh, -this has killed a lot of Boches."</p> - -<p>He helped to perfect it, so he knew. We left him -gazing affectionately at it, a fine specimen of French -manhood, tall and slender, but strongly made, with -clear humorous eyes, and breeding in every line of him.</p> - -<p>I often wonder whether he and his <i lang="fr">crapouillot</i> are -still killing "lots of Boches," and whether he ever -exclaims as did a woman who saw them breaking over -the frontier in 1914, "What a people! They are -like ants: the more of them you kill, the more there -are."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span></p> - -<p>We would have liked to linger in the sunny flower-encrusted -garden, but R. awaited us. There with -consummate skill we evaded M. le Curé, and did our -visiting under no guidance but our own. A quaint little -village is R., deep enbosomed in swelling uplands, with -woods all about it, but, like N., stricken by neglect and -poverty. The inhabitants of both seemed rough and -somewhat degraded, a much lower type than the -majority of our refugees, but perhaps they were only -poor and discouraged. The war has set so many strange -seals upon us, we may no longer judge by the old standards, -no longer draw conclusions with the light, careless -assumption of infallibility of old.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span></p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X</a></h2> -</div> -<p class="center">PRIESTS AND PEOPLE</p> - - -<p class="center">I</p> - -<p>Having tasted the delights of a mild vagabondage, -we now turned our thoughts to other villages, modestly -supposing that by degrees we could "do" the Meuse. -(Had we but known it the whole of France lay before -us, refugees everywhere, and every refugee in need). -Having requisitioned a motor-car we planned tours, -but first we investigated Behonne on foot. It lies -on the hill above the aviation ground, so let no man -ask why it came first in our affections.</p> - -<p>I suppose it would be impolitic to say how many -sheds there were, or how many aeroplanes we used -to see squatting like great winged beetles on the ground, -and then rising so lightly, so delicately, spiralling -higher and higher, and then darting away with swift -wing far into the shimmering blue.</p> - -<p>Although Behonne is at the top of a hill, it has -managed to tuck itself into a hollow—so many French -villages have this burrowing tendency—and all you -can see of it as you approach is the top of the church -spire rising like a funny candle-extinguisher above the -ridge of the hill. The village itself is dull and uninteresting, -but the surrounding country beautiful -beyond measure, especially when the corn is ripening -in the sun; the refugees for the most part not necessitous, -having driven from home in their farm carts,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> -magnificently throned on feather beds and <i lang="fr">duvets</i>, with -other household goods.</p> - -<p>Two houses, however, made a lasting impression. In -one, in a room in the centre of which was a well (boarded -over of course), lived a woman, her two children, -and an old man in no way related to them. The walls -were rotting, in many places straw had been stuffed -in to fill fissures and holes, the ceiling was broken, -enterprising chunks of it making occasional excursions -to the floor below, and one window was "glazed" -with paper. The doors, through which rats gnawed -an occasional way, were ill-fitting; in bad weather the -place was a funnel through which the wind whistled -and tore. The woman had one blanket and some old -clothes with which to cover herself and her children -at night, the old man had a strip of carpet given him -by the Curé, a kindly old man of peasant stock and -very narrow means. The room was exceedingly dirty, -the children looked neglected, the woman was ill.</p> - -<p>In the other house was a cheery individual whose -husband had been a cripple since childhood. She told -us she had four children, the youngest being three -years old. He came running in from the street, a -great fat lusty thing, demanding to be fed, and we -learned to our astonishment that he was not yet -weaned. Eugenically interesting, this habit of nursing -children up to the age of two or even three years -of age is not uncommon, and it throws a strong light -upon the psychology of French Motherhood.</p> - -<p>A few miles beyond Behonne lies Vavincourt, sacred -to the omelette of immortal memory—but oh, what a -day it was that saw us there! A fierce wind that -seemed to tear all the clothes from our bodies blew -from the north, there were some inches of snow on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> -the ground, light powdery snow fell incessantly. We -were frozen as we drove out, we froze still harder as -we made our way from house to house, slipping and -sliding on the treacherous snow, absorbing moisture -through our boots, staggering like wooden-legged -icicles into rooms whose temperature sensibly declined -with our advent. A day of supreme physical discomfort; -a day that would surely have been our last -had not the Mayor's wife overtaken us in the street -and swept us into her kitchen, there to revive like flies -in sunshine, under the mellifluous influence of hot -coffee and omelette, <i lang="fr">confitures</i> and cheese.</p> - -<p>It was in Vavincourt that we first saw women -embroidering silk gowns for the Paris shops. The -panels in pale pink were stretched on a frame (<i lang="fr">métier</i>), -at which they worked one on either side; a common -method, as we discovered during the winter. In Bar-le-Duc -we had come upon a few women who worked -without a <i lang="fr">métier</i>, but as time went on more and more -<i lang="fr">brodeuses</i> of every description came upon our books, -and so an industry was started which lived at first -more or less by taking in its own washing, but later -blossomed out into more ambitious ways. Orders -came to us from England, and a consignment of dainty -things was sent to America, but with what result I -cannot say, as I left Bar before its fate was decided.</p> - -<p>The Verdun and Nancy districts appear to be the -chief centres of the <i lang="fr">broderie</i> industry, the latter being -so famous that girls are sent there to be apprenticed -to the trade, which, however, is wretchedly paid, the -rate being four sous, or rather less than twopence, an -hour, the women finding their own cotton. We gave -six sous and cotton free—gilded luxury in the workers' -eyes, though sweating in ours, and trusted to their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> -honesty in the matter of time, a trust which was -amply repaid, as with one or two exceptions they were -scrupulous to a degree. The most amusing delinquent -was a voluble lady from Resson who glibly replied, -"Oh, at least sixty hours, Mademoiselle," to every -question.</p> - -<p>"What, sixty hours to do <span class="smcap">THAT</span>?" we would remonstrate, -looking at a small tray-cloth with a <i lang="fr">motif</i> in -each corner.</p> - -<p>"Well, à peu près, one does not count exactly; but -it was long, long, vous savez." A steely eye searched -ours, read incredulity, wavered; "Six francs fifty? Eh, -mon Dieu, on acceptera bien cela." And off she would -go, to come back in faith with the same outrageous -story on the next market day. Perhaps there is excuse -for a debt of six francs swelling to eighteen when one -walks ten miles to collect it.</p> - -<p>Quite a hundred women inscribed their names on -our <i lang="fr">broderie</i> wages-sheet, the war having dislocated -their connection with their old markets. The trade -itself was languishing, the workers scattered and unable -to get into touch with former employers, for Paris -shops do not deal direct as a rule, they work through -<i lang="fr">entrepreneuses</i>, or middlewomen, who now being themselves -refugees were unable to carry on their old trade. -It was almost pitiable to see how the women snatched -at an opportunity of working, only a very few, and -these chiefly <i lang="fr">métier</i> workers, being still in receipt of -orders from Paris. Some whom we found difficulty -in employing were only <i lang="fr">festonneuses</i>, earning at the best -miserable pay and doing coarse, rough work, quite -unfit for our purpose—buttonholing round the necks -and arms of cheap chemises, for instance. Others were -<i lang="fr">belles brodeuses</i>, turning out the most exquisitely dainty<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> -things, fairy garments or house-linen of the most -beautiful kind.</p> - -<p>Of all ways of helping the refugees there was none -better than this. How they longed for work! The -old people would come begging for knitting or sewing. -"Ça change les idées," they would say. Anything -rather than sit day after day brooding, thinking, going -back over the tragic past, looking out upon the uncertain -future. Every franc earned was a franc in the stocking, -the <i lang="fr">bas de laine</i> whose contents were to help to -make a home for them once more when the war was -over. And what could be better than working at -one's own trade, at the thing which one loved and -which lay in one's fingers? When the needle was busy -the mind was at rest, and despair, that devourer of -endurance, slunk abashed out of sight. For they find -the time of waiting long, these refugees. Can you -wonder? Wherever we went we heard the same story; -in village or town we were asked the same question. -Each stroke of good fortune, every "push," every -fresh batch of prisoners brought the sun through the -low-hanging clouds; every reverse, the forced inactivity -of winter, drew darkness once more across the sky. -In the villages the people who owned horses were -fairly well off, they could earn their four francs a day, -but the others found little comfort. Work was scarce, -their neighbours often as poor as themselves. There -are few, if any, big country houses ruled by wealthy, -kind-hearted despots in these districts of France. In -all our wanderings we found only one village basking -in manorial smiles, and enjoying the generosity of a -"lady of the house." The needy had to fend for -themselves, and work out their own salvation as best -they might. The reception given to the Belgians in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> -England read to them like a fairy tale, and fostered -wild ideas of England's wealth in their minds. "All -the English are rich," they would cry; "have we not -heard of les milords anglais?" They received accounts -of the poverty in our big cities with polite incredulity; -if our own people were starving or naked, why succour -foreigners?</p> - -<p>Sometimes they smiled a little pityingly. "The -English gaspillent tout." Spendthrifts. And they -would nod sapient heads, murmuring things it is not -expedient to set down. It may even be indiscretion to -add that between the French and the Belgians no love -is set, some racial hatred having thrust its roots in deep.</p> - -<p>It is in the winter that vitality and resistance-power -run lowest, especially in the villages, for though work -may be found in the fields during the summer, the long -dark winter months drag heavily by. <i lang="fr">Brodeuses</i> would -walk eight miles in and eight out again in the most -inclement weather to ask for work, others would come -as many weary miles to get a hank or two of wool with -which to knit socks and shawls. Sometimes one woman -would take back work for half a dozen, and always -our field of operations spread as village after village -was visited and the Society became known.</p> - -<p>They came in their tens, they came in their hundreds, -I am tempted to swear that they came in their thousands. -Madame soon ceased to announce them, they -lined the hall, they blocked the staircase, they swirled -in the Common-room. There were days when all -the resources of the establishment failed, when <i lang="fr">broderie</i> -ran short and wool ran short, when there were no more -chemises or matinées waiting to be made up, and when -our hair, metaphorically speaking, lay in tufts over -the house, plucked from our heads by our distracted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> -fingers. They came for work, they came for clothes, -they came for medicine and medical attendance, they -came for food—only the very poorest these—they came -for condensed milk for their babies, or for <i lang="fr">farine lactée</i>, -or for orders for admission to the Society's hospitals -at Châlons and Sermaize, or to ask us to send their -children to the <i lang="fr">Colonies des Vacances</i>, or for paper and -packing to make up parcels for husbands at the Front. -They came to buy beds and pillows and bolsters at -reduced prices and on the instalment plan, paying -so much per month according to their means; they -came for chairs and cupboards, or for the "trousseau," -a gift—it may be reckoned as such, as they only contributed -one franc fifty towards the entire cost—of -three sheets, four pillow-cases and six towels, each of -which had to be hand-stitched or hemmed, and marked -or embroidered with the owner's name. They came -to ask for white dresses and veils—which they did -not get—for candidates for confirmation, they came -for sabots and boots, and sometimes they came for -the whole lot.</p> - -<p>"Well, Madame, ça va bien?" Thus we greeted a -hardy old campaigner in the street one day.</p> - -<p>"Eh bien, ça va tout doucement." Then with an -engaging smile, "I am coming to see you to-morrow."</p> - -<p>"Indeed? And what do you want now?" This -looks crude, but we laboured under no delusions where -Madame Morge was concerned. It was not for the -sake of our <i lang="fr">beaux yeux</i> that she visited us.</p> - -<p>"Eh, ma fois, un peu de tout," she replied audaciously, -and we shot at her a mendacious, "Don't you -know that distributions have ceased?" which left her -calling heaven and her gods to witness that the earth -was crumbling.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span></p> - -<p>Villagers who lived too far away for personal visits -wrote, or their Mayor or their priest wrote for them. -We had by this time organised our system, and knew -that the person who could supply us with a complete -and detailed list was the Mayor, or his secretary the -schoolmaster.</p> - -<p>Sometimes these worthies were hard of heart, assuring -us that no one in the commune was necessitous, but -we knew from experience that the official mind is -sometimes a superficial mind, judging by externals -only, so we persisted in our demand, and were invariably -satisfied in the end. Others, and they were in a large -majority, met us with open arms, cheerfully placed -their time and their knowledge at our disposal, were -hospitable, helpful and kind, and careful to draw our -attention to specially deserving cases. Once when on -a tour of inquiry we stumbled into a village during -the luncheon hour. A regiment was resting there, -and, as the first English who presumably had set foot -in it, we were immediately surrounded by an admiring -and critical crowd, some imaginative members of which -murmured the ominous word Spy. The Mayor's house -indicated, we rapped at the door, and in response to -a gruff <i lang="fr">Entrez</i> found ourselves in a small and very -crowded kitchen, where a good <i lang="fr">pot-au-feu</i> was being -discussed at a large round table. The situation was -sufficiently embarrassing, especially as the Mayor, being -deaf, heard only a few words of our introductory speech, -and promptly wished all refugees at the devil. A list? -He was weary of lists. Every one wanted lists, the -Préfet wanted lists, the Ministre de l'Intérieur wanted -lists. And now we came and demanded them. Who -the—well, who were we that he should set his quill -a-driving on our behalf?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Shout 'Anglaises' at him." It was a ticklish -moment. He was on the point of throwing us out -neck and crop. The advice was taken, the roar might -have been heard in Bar.</p> - -<p>"English? You are English?"</p> - -<p>Have you ever seen a raging lion suddenly transform -itself into a nice brown-eyed dog? We have, in that -little kitchen in a remote village of the Meuse. Our -hands were grasped, the Mayor was beaming. A list? -He would give us twenty lists. English? Our hands -were shaken till our fingers nearly dropped off, and if -we had eaten up all the <i lang="fr">pot-au-feu</i> Monsieur would have -deemed it an honour. However, we didn't eat it. -Monsieur's family was gazing at it with hungry eyes, -and even the best of Ententes may be strained too far.</p> - -<p>When we reached the street again the crowd had -fraternised with our chauffeur, and we drove away -under a pyrotechnical display of smiles.</p> - -<p>Another day a soldier suddenly sprang off the pavement, -jumped on the step of the motor-car, thrust -some freshly-roasted chestnuts into my hand and was -gone before I could cry, "Thank you."</p> - -<p>We met many priests in these peripatetic adventures, -the stout, practical and pompous, the autocratic, the -negligent (there was one who regretted he could tell -us nothing: "I have only been fifteen months here, so -I don't yet know the people"), the old—I remember a -visit to a presbytery in the Aube, and finding there a -charming, gentle, diffident creature, a lover of books, -poor, spiritual, half-detached from this world, very -close to the next. He had a fine church, pure Gothic, -a joy to the eye of the connoisseur, but no congregation. -Only a wee handful of people who met each -Sunday in a side chapel, the great unfilled vault of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> -church telling its own tale of changed thought and -agnostic days.</p> - -<p>But most intimately of all we came to know the -Abbé B. who lived in our own town of Bar, because, -greatly daring, we rang one evening at his door and -asked him to teach us French.</p> - -<p>We had heard of him from Eugénie, and knew that -he taught at the École St Louis, that he was a refugee—he -escaped from M. on his bicycle a few minutes -before the Germans entered it—and that his church -and his village were in ruins. But we had never seen -him, and when, having rung his bell, escape was no -longer possible, an awful thought shattered us. Suppose -he were fat and greasy and dull? Could any ingenuity -extract us from the situation into which we had thrust -ourselves? We felt sure it could not, so we followed -Eugénie with quaking hearts, followed her to the -garden where we found a short, dark man with a -humorous mouth and an ugly, attractive face, busily -planting peas. We nodded our satisfaction to one -another, and before we left the arrangement was made.</p> - -<p>Our first lesson was devastating. The Abbé credited -us with the intelligence of children, telling us how to -make a plural, and how by adding "e" a masculine -word can be changed into a feminine; fort, forte; -grand, grande; and so on. Then he gave us a <i lang="fr">devoir</i> -(home work), and we came away feeling like naughty -children who have been put into the corner. His -parlour was stifling, and how we rejoiced when the -weather was fine, and we could hold our class in the -garden. I can see him now standing by the low wall -under the arbour, his gaze turned far away out across -the hills. "It is there," he pointed, "the village. -Out there near St Mihiel."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span></p> - -<p>For twenty-seven years he had ministered there, -he had seen the children he baptised grow to manhood -and womanhood, and had gathered their children, too, -into the fold of Christ. He had beautified and adorned -the church—how he loved it!—year after year with -tireless energy and care, making it more and more -perfect, more and more fit for the service of the God -he worshipped. And now it is a ruin blown to fragments -by the guns of friend and foe alike, and his -people are scattered, many of them dead. He came -to Bar penniless, owning just the clothes he stood up -in, and he told me once that his income, including his -salary at the school and a grant from some special -fund, was just one hundred francs a month. Scarcely -a pound a week.</p> - -<p>Once hearing me say that I was not rich, he asked -me the amount of my income, adding naïvely, "I -do not ask out of curiosity," and I felt mean as I -dodged the question, for an income that is "not riches" -in England looks wonderfully like wealth in a refugee's -parlour in Bar.</p> - -<p>All his dream, all his desire is to go back to M. and -build his church again. The church the central, the -focussing point, then the schoolhouse, then homes for -the people, that is his plan; but he has no money, his -congregation is destitute—or nearly so—he cannot -look to the Government. Whence, then, will help -come? So he would question, filling us with intense -desire to rush back to England and plead for him and -his cause in every market square in the land. He would -go back to M. now if they would allow him to, he will go -back with or without permission when the slaughter ends.</p> - -<p>"The valley is so fertile," he would say; "watered -by the Meuse, it is one of the richest in France. Such<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> -grass, such a <i lang="fr">prairie</i>. And after the war we must -cultivate, cultivate quickly; they cannot allow land -like ours to be idle, and so we shall go back at once."</p> - -<p>"But," we said, "will you be able to cultivate? -Surely heavy and constant shell-fire makes the land -unfit for the plough?"</p> - -<p>We knew what the ground is like all along the blood-stained -Front, hundreds of miles of it fought over -for four interminable years, its soil enriched by the -hallowed dead, torn and lacerated by shells, incalculable -tons of iron piercing its breast, and knew, too, -that Death lurks cunningly in many an unexploded -bomb or mortar or shell, and that prolonged and -costly sanitation will be necessary before man dare -live on it again. Yes, the Abbé knew it too, but knew -that a strip of his richest land lay between two hills, -the French on one, the Germans on the other, and -not a trench dug in all the length between. No wonder -hope rode gallantly in his breast, no wonder he saw -his people going quietly to their labour, and heard -his church bell ringing again its call to peaceful prayer. -And then he would revert again to the ever-present -problem, the problem of ways and means.</p> - -<p>Ah, we in England do not know how that question -tortures the heart of stricken France. Shall I tell -you of it, leaving the Abbé for the moment to look out -across the hills, the reverberant thunder in his ear and -infinite longing in his loyal heart?</p> - - -<p class="center">II</p> - -<p>A little poem of Padraic Colum's springs to my mind -as I ask myself how to make you realise, how bring -the truth home to those who have never seen the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> -eternal question shadow the eyes of homeless men. -One verse of it runs—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">I am praying to God on high,<br /></div> -<div class="verse indent2">I am praying Him night and day,<br /></div> -<div class="verse">For a little home, a home of my own,<br /></div> -<div class="verse indent2">Out of the wind and the rain's way."<br /></div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>and it just sums up the refugee desire.</p> - -<p>You—if you are a refugee—had a home once, you -earned a livelihood; but the home is laid waste and -bare, your livelihood has vanished, and in all probability -your savings with it.</p> - -<p>You buried what money you had in the cellar before -you left, because you thought you were only going -away for a few weeks, and now the Germans have -found it. You know that they pour water over cellar -floors, watching carefully to see whether any percolates -through. If it does it is clear that the earth has -recently been disturbed, so away they go for shovels -and dig; if it doesn't they try elsewhere. There is -the well, for instance. A carefully-made-up packet -might lie safely at the bottom for years, so what more -suitable as a hiding-place? What, indeed, says the -wily Hun as he is cautiously lowered into the darkness, -there to probe and pry and fish, and if he is lucky to -drag treasure from the deeps. Or you may have -hidden your all under that white rock at the end of -the garden. The rock is overturned to-day, and a -hole shows where the robber has found your gold.</p> - -<p>A gnarled tree-trunk, a post, a cross-road, anything -that might serve as a mark lures him as sugar lures -the ant; he has dug and delved, and searched the -surface of France as an intensive culturist digs over -his patch of ground. He has cut down the communal -forests, the famous cherry and walnut trees of Les<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> -Éparges have all been levelled and the timber sent -into Germany; he has ripped up floors, torn out window -frames; he falls on copper and steel and iron with -shrieks of joy; he is the locust of war, with the digestion -of an ostrich; he literally "licks the platter clean," -and what he cannot gorge he destroys.</p> - -<p>So if you are a refugee you ask yourself daily, "What -shall we find when we go back? How shall we start -life afresh? Who will rebuild our houses, restock our -farms and our shops, and indemnify us for all we have -lost? France? She will have no money after the -war, and Germany will be bankrupt.</p> - -<p>What can we, sheltered and safe in England, know -of such sorrow as this? To say we have never known -invasion is to say we have never known the real meaning -of war. It may and does press hardly on us, but -it does not grind us under foot. It does not set its -iron heel upon our hearts and laugh when the red -blood spurts upon the ground; it does not take our -chastity in its filthy hands and batten upon it in the -market-place; it doesn't rob us of liberty, nor of honour, -nor does it break our altars, spuming its bestialities -over the sacred flame. Our inner sanctuaries are still -holy and undefiled. Those whom we have given have -gone clear-eyed and pure-hearted to the White Temple -of Sacrifice, there to lay their gift upon the outstretched -hand of God: not one has died in shame.</p> - -<p>Whatever the war may have in store for us—and -that it has much of suffering, of hardship, of privation -and bitter sorrow who can doubt?—if it spares us the -violation of our homes and of our sanctuaries, if it -leaves our frontiers unbroken, if it leaves us <span class="smcap">FREE</span>, -then, indeed, we shall have incurred a debt which it -will be difficult to pay. A debt of gratitude which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> -must become a debt of honour to be paid in full measure, -pressed down, and running over to those, less fortunate -than ourselves, who will turn to us in their need.</p> - -<p>And in the longed-for days to come France will need -us as she needs us now. She will need our sympathy, -our money, our very selves. She will no longer call -on us to destroy in order to save, she will call on us to -regenerate, redeem, to roll away the Stone from her -House of Death, and touching the crucified with our -hand, bid them come forth, revivified, strong and free.</p> - -<p>Yes, there will be fine work to do in France when -the war is over! Constructive work, the building up -of all that has been broken down; work much of -which she will be too exhausted to undertake herself, -work of such magnitude that generations yet unborn -may not see it completed.</p> - -<p>A new world to make! What possibilities that -suggests. Rolling away the Stone, watching the dead -limbs stir, the flush of health coming back into the -grey, shrivelled faces, and light springing again into -the eyes. Seeing Joy light her lamps, and Hope break -into blossom, seeing human hearts and human souls -cast off the cerecloths and come forth into the fruitful -garden. Surely we can await the end with such a -Vision Beautiful as that before us, and—who knows?—it -may be that in healing the wounds of others we shall -find balm for our own.</p> - -<p>The Return. If the French visualise it at all, do -they see it as a concrete thing, a long procession of -worn, exhausted, but eager men and women winding -its way from every quarter of France, from the far -Pyrenees, from the Midi, from the snow-clad Alps, -from the fertile plains, winding, with many a pitiful -gap in its ranks, back over the thorn-strewn road?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> -Is that their dream? Yet it may be that the reality -is only the beginning of another exile, as long, as -patient, as difficult to endure.</p> - -<p>Hard-headed, practical, unimaginative reformers of -the world's woes sometimes blame the refugees who -have remained so near the Front.</p> - -<p>In Bar house-rent is high, living exceedingly dear. -Legends such as "<i lang="fr">Le sucre manque</i>: <i lang="fr">Pas de tabac</i>: no -matches; no paraffin," are constantly displayed in -the shop windows, wood has more than doubled in -price, coal is simply <i lang="fr">hors de prix</i>. Milk, butter and -eggs are frequently unobtainable, and generally bad; -gas is an uncertain quantity as coal is scarce, and has a -diabolic knack of going out just when you need it -most. All of which things do not lend to the gaiety -of nations, still less to that of the <i lang="fr">allocation</i>-supported -refugee. If troops are being moved from one part of -the Front to another, the <i lang="fr">Petite Vitesse</i> ceases from its -labours and supplies are cut off from the town. Farther -south these lamentable things do not happen, but -farther south is farther from home. And there's the -rub! For home is a magnet and would draw the -refugee to the actual Front itself, there to cower in -any rude shelter did common sense and <i lang="fr">l'autorité -compétente militaire</i> not intervene.</p> - -<p>So as many as possible have stayed as near the barrier -as possible. And—this is a secret, you mustn't divulge -it—these wicked, wily, homeless ones are plotting. -They are afraid that after the war the Government will -bar the road now swept by German guns; that orders -will go forth forbidding return; that railway station -<i lang="fr">guichets</i> will be barred and roads watched by lynx-eyed -policemen whom no bribe can corrupt—they will be -very special policemen, you know—no tears cajole.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span></p> - -<p>And so they plan to slip back unobserved. If one -is at the very door, not more than the proverbial hop, -skip and jump away—well, the magnet is very powerful, -and even Jove and Governments nod sometimes. -And just as the head drops forward and the eyes close, -<em>hey presto</em>! they will be over the border, and when -the barrier closes down they will be inside, and all -the gendarmes in France will not be able to put them -out again. If they can't <span class="smcap">GO</span> home, they will <span class="smcap">SNEAK</span> -home. They will get there if they have to invent an -entirely new mode of locomotion, even if they have -to live in cellars or shell-holes and eat grass—but there -may not be any grass. Didn't Sermaize live in cellars -and exist on nothing at all?—live in cellars and grow -fond of them? There is one old lady in a jolly little -wooden house to-day, who suffers from so acute a -nostalgia for her cellar she is afraid to walk past the -ruins that cover it. If she did, she declares, the beautiful -little wooden house would know her no more. The -cellar was as dark and as damp as the inside of a -whale, and it gave her a rheumatism of the devil in -all her bones, but she lived in it for three years, and -in three years one attaches oneself, <i lang="fr">ma foi</i>, one forms -<i lang="fr">des liaisons</i>. So she sits and sighs while the house-builders -meditate on the eternal irony of things, and -their pride is as a worm that daws have pecked.</p> - -<p>So be sure the refugees will go back just as soon as -ever they can go, as the Abbé plans to go, caring little -if it is unwise, perhaps not realising that even if Peace -were declared to-morrow, many years must pass before -the earth can become fruitful again, many years must -set behind the hills of Time before new villages, new -towns, new cities can spring from the graves of the old.</p> - -<p>Personally, I hope that some of these graves will be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> -left just as Germany has made them, that a few villages, -an historic town or two will be carefully guarded and -preserved, partly because ruin-loving America will -pay vast sums to see them, and so help to rebuild -others, and partly because—am I a vindictive beast?—I -want them to remain, silent, inexorable witnesses of -the true inwardness of the German method and the -German soul, if anything so degraded as she is can be -said to have a soul. "Lest we forget," these ghosts -of towns should haunt us for ever, stirring the memory -and quickening the imagination, a reproach to conscience, -an incorruptible judge of blood-guiltiness, -which we should neither pardon nor forget till the -fullest reparation has been made, the utmost contrition -has been shown. And it must be no lip-service -either. By its deeds we must know it. I want to see -Germany humbled to the very dust; I want to see -Germany in sackcloth and ashes rebuilding what she -has destroyed, sending new legions into France, but -armed this time with shovel and with pick, with brick -and with mortar; I want to see those legions labouring -to efface the imprints of the old; I want to see Germany -feeding them and paying them—they must not cost -France one sou; I want to see her in the white shroud -of the penitent, candle in hand, barefoot and bareheaded -before the Tribunal of the World, confessing -her sins, and expiating them every one in an agony -not one whit less poignant than that which she has -inflicted upon others. Yes, let the destroyer turn -builder. And until she does so let us ostracise her, cut -her out of our Book of Life. Who are we that we should -associate with the Judas who has betrayed civilisation?</p> - -<p>A refugee rarely spoke of the Germans without prefixing -the adjective dirty—<i lang="fr">ces sales Boches</i>—and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> -Abbé was no exception to the rule; indeed, he was -plain-spoken to bluntness on most occasions. His -criticisms of our French compositions would have -withered the vanity of a Narcissus, and proved altogether -too much for one timid soul, who, having endured -a martyrdom through two lessons, stubbornly refused -to go back any more. Which was regrettable, as on -closer acquaintance he proved to be rather a lovable -person, with a simplicity of soul that was as rare as -it was childlike.</p> - -<p>Like the Curé of N., he presumed us Roman Catholic, -asked us if England were not rapidly coming into the -light, and commented upon the "conversion" of -Queen Victoria shortly before her death. Though it -shook him, I think he never quite believed our denial -of this remarkable story, and have sometimes reproached -myself for having deprived him of the -obvious comfort it brought him; but he took it all -in good part, and subsequently showed us that he -could be broad-minded, and tolerant as well.</p> - -<p>"Charity knows no creed," he cried, and it was -impossible to avoid contrasting his implicit faith in -our honesty, his steady confidence that we would -never use our exceptional opportunities for winning -the confidence and even the affection of the people -for any illegitimate purpose, with the deep distrust -of the average Irish priest. The hag-ridden fear of -Proselytism which clouds every Irish sky dares not -show its evil face in France, nor did we ever find even -a breath of intolerance tainting our relations with -priests or with people.</p> - -<p>But then perhaps they, like the Abbé, realise that -our error of faith is a misfortune rather than a fault. -Having been born that way, we were not wholly respon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span>sible. -Indeed the Abbé went so far as to assure me -that I was not responsible at all.</p> - -<p>"Then who is, M. l'Abbé?" I questioned, reading -condemnation of some one in his eye.</p> - -<p>"Henry the Eighth," he replied, with exquisite conviction, -and I gasped. Henry the Eighth!</p> - -<p>"Assurement." Had he not a quarrel with his -Holiness the Pope, and being greedy for temporal -power renounced Catholicism in a fit of rage, and so -flung the English people into the profundities of -spiritual darkness? We—we other Protestants—are his -victims; our error of faith is one for which we shall -neither be judged nor punished, but he ... I realised -that Henry deserved all my sympathy; he is not -having too good a time of it <i lang="fr">là bas</i>. Of course it was -comforting to know that we were blameless, but -privately I thought it was rather unfair to poor old -Hal, who surely has enough sins of his own to expiate -without having those of an obscure bog-trotting -Irishwoman foisted upon him as well.</p> - -<p>"Yours," went on the Abbé, "is natural religion, -the heritage of your parents; ours is revealed. Some -day I will explain it to you, not—this very naïvely—with -any desire to convert you, but in order to help -you to understand why truth is to be found only in -the arms of the Roman Church."</p> - -<p>It puzzled him a little that we should be Protestant, -it was so austere, so comfortless, so cold. "La scène-froide" -was the expression he used in describing our -services, "les mystères" when talking of his own. He -denounced as the grossest superstition the pathetic -belief of many an Irish peasant in the infallibility, the -almost-divine power of the priesthood, and, unlike his -colleagues in that tormented land, he is an advocate<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> -of education even on the broadest basis. "Let people -think for themselves; if you keep too tight a rein they -will only revolt."</p> - -<p>That he detests the present form of Government -goes without saying, his condemnation being so sweeping -the big pine tree in the garden positively trembled -before the winds of his rage. "Anything but this," -he cried, "even a monarchy, même un Protestant, -même le Roi Albert. Atheists, self-seekers all, they -are ruining France," and then he repeated the oft-heard -conviction that the war has been sent as a -punishment for agnosticism and unbelief.</p> - -<p>For Prefêts and Sous-Prefêts he entertains the profoundest -contempt, even going as far as to designate -one of the former, whom I heroically refuse to name, -a <i lang="fr">gros, gras paresseux</i>,<a name="FNanchor_8_8" id="FNanchor_8_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a> and the Sous-Prefêts the -<i lang="fr">âmes damnées</i> of the Minister of the Interieur. How -he hates the whole breed of them! And how joyfully -he would depose them every one! The feud between -Church and State has ploughed deep furrows in his -soul, and I gather that brotherly love did not continue -long—supposing that it ever existed—in M. when its -waves swept the village into rival factions. The -Mayor, needless to say, was agnostic, and loyal to his -Government; the Abbé furious, but trying hard to be -impartial, to eschew politics, and serve his God. He -might have succeeded had not the spirit of mischief -that lurks in his eye betrayed him and dragged him -from his precarious fence. He plunged into the controversy, -but—oh, M. l'Abbé! M. l'Abbé!—in patois -and in the columns of the local Press. Now his knowledge -of patois, gathered as a boy, had been carefully -hidden under a bushel, and so the authorship of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> -fierce, sarcastic, ironical letters was never known, nor -did M. le Maire ever guess why the priest's eyes -twinkled so wickedly when he passed him in the street.</p> - -<p>They twinkled as he told the story, thoroughly -enjoying his little ruse, but grew fierce again when he -talked of Freemasons. To say that he thinks Freemasonry -an incarnation of the devil is to put his feelings -mildly. They are, he declares, the enemy of all virtue, -purity and truth; criminal atheists, hotbeds of everything -evil, their "tendency" resolutely set against -good. They are insidious, corrupt; defilers of public -morals and public taste.</p> - -<p>"But, M. l'Abbé," I cried, "that is not so. In -England——" I gave him a few facts. It shook him -somewhat to hear that the late King Edward, whom -he profoundly admires, was a Mason, but he recovered -himself quickly.</p> - -<p>"Perhaps in England they may seem good, there -may even be good people among them, poor dupes -who do not see below the surface. <span class="smcap">There</span> all is corruption, -the goodness is only a mask worn to deceive -the ignorant and the credulous. Ah, the evil they have -wrought in the world! It was they who brought -about the war (its Divine origin was for the moment -forgotten), they were undermining Europe, they would -drag her down into the pit, to filth and decay."</p> - -<p>It was odd to hear such words from the lips of so -kindly, so wise a man, and one with so profound a -knowledge of human nature. He told me that in all -his years of ministry at M. there was only one illegitimate -birth in the village—a statement which students -of De Maupassant will find it difficult to believe.</p> - -<p>We were talking of certain moral problems intensified -by the war, the perpetually recurring "sex-question,"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> -not any more insistent perhaps in France than elsewhere, -but obtruding itself less ashamedly upon the -notice. It was the acceptance, the toleration of certain -things that puzzled me, an acceptance which I am sometimes -tempted to believe is due to some deep, wise -understanding of human frailty, of the fierceness of -human passions, the weakness of human will when -Love has taken over the citadel of the heart. Or is it -due to fatalism, the conviction that it is useless to -strive against what cannot be altered, absurd to fight -Nature in her unbridled moods?</p> - -<p>The priest, needless to say, neither accepted nor -condoned. He blamed public opinion, above all he -blamed the unbelief of the people, and then he told -me of M. and the purity of the life there. Only one -girl in all those years, and she, after her baby was born, -led so exemplary, so modest a life that its father subsequently -married her, and together they built up one -of the happiest homes in the village. (You will gather -that the Abbé was not above entertaining at least one -popular superstition in that he insinuated that all the -blame rested on the shoulders of the woman.)</p> - -<p>One other story he told me which flashed a white -light upon his soul. A certain atheist, one of his -bitterest enemies, came to him one day in deep distress -of mind. His wife, an unbeliever like himself, was -dying, and, dying, was afraid. The man was rich, and -thought he could buy his way and hers into the Kingdom -of Heaven. But the Abbé refused his gold. -"You cannot buy salvation nor ease of conscience," -he said sternly. "Keep your money; God wants your -heart, and not your purse." He attended the woman, -gave her Christian burial, and asked exactly the legal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> -fee. Not one penny more would he take, nor could -all the atheist's prayers move him.</p> - -<p>He told me that he would not bury a man or a woman -living in what he called <i lang="fr">le concubinage civile</i>, people -married by the State only and not by Church and State. -For these, he said, there could only be the burial of a -dog, for they lived in sin, knowing their error as do the -contractors of mixed marriages if they do not ask for -and receive a dispensation. The rules governing these -latter appear to be much the same as those which hold -good in Ireland. No service in a Protestant church -is permitted, and the Protestant must promise that -all children born of the union shall be baptised and -brought up in the Catholic faith. There is no written -contract, and the promise may, of course, be broken, but -if the Catholic is a party to it he is guilty of mortal sin.</p> - -<p>You will see that as our classes ran their course—and -circumstances decreed that I should take the final -lessons alone—we got very far away from "s" for -plural and "e" for feminine. Exercises corrected, -many an interesting half-hour we passed in the little -parlour, and many a tale of the trenches the Abbé -gathered up for us, and many a "well-founded, -authentic" prophecy of the speedy termination of -the war. Ah, he was so sure he would be in his beloved -M. this winter. Did not his friend the Editor of—he -mentioned a leading Paris journal—tell him so?</p> - -<p>But this is the war of the unforeseen. Perhaps that -is why some of us dare to believe that when the end -comes it will come suddenly, swiftly, like thunder -pealing through the heavy stillness of a breathless, -sullen night.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span></p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI</a></h2> -</div> -<p class="center">REPATRIÉES</p> - - -<p class="center">I</p> - -<p>"Mademoiselle, Mademoiselle, the children are -coming!"</p> - -<p>Christmas had come and gone in a convulsion of -parties, January had dripped monotonously into the -abyss of time. The day was dank and cheerless, rain—the -imperturbable rain of France—was falling placidly, -persistently, yet through the unfathomable seas of -mud that engulf Bar-le-Duc in winter I saw Madame -Lassanne running towards me. I was miry, wet and -exceedingly cross; Madame was several times mirier, -her clothes were a sodden sop, but her eyes were like -a breeze-ruffled pool that the sun has been kissing. -She clutched a telegram in one shaking hand, she waved -it under my eyes, she cried out something quite unintelligible, -for a laugh and a sob caught it and smothered -it as she fled. I watched her splash through the grey -liquid sea—she was running but she did not know it. -The train was not due for an hour yet.</p> - -<p>Some days later I swam out to the farm (you don't -walk in Bar in winter unless you have webbed feet, and -then you fly), and there I found Madame Breda and -the aunt whose name I have most reprehensibly -forgotten, and Roger and Marie, and yet another old -lady, and Madame, and they were all living in one -small room and they all talked together, and Roger—<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> -discerning infant—howled at my uniform, and Marie -stared at me out of great round eyes, and gradually -little by little I pieced together the story.</p> - -<p>When shells were falling on the village Madame -Breda, as you know, set off with the children, but -turning north instead of south, walked right into the -line of battle. A handful of French (it was in August -1914) were flying before vastly superior German forces. -They rode down the road at breakneck speed. "Sauve -qui peut!" The cry shattered the air. One man's -horse was shot under him. He scrambled to his -feet, terror in his eyes, for the Germans were close -behind. A comrade reined up, in a moment he had -swung himself behind him and the mad race for life -swept on, the men shouting to Madame Breda to fly. -"Sauvez-vous, sauvez-vous." What she read in their -eyes she never forgot. But flight for her and the -children was out of the question, they were literally -too frightened to move. A few minutes later they were -toiling back along the road to a little village called, I -think, Canel, with German soldiers mounting guard -over them. There they were kept for six days, during -three of which no bread was obtainable, and they nearly -died of hunger. Then they were taken to Nantillois, -their old home, where they remained for two months. -Food was scarce, the soldiers brutal. "There are no -potatoes," they cried to the Commandant; "what -shall we eat?" "Il y a des betteraves,"<a name="FNanchor_9_9" id="FNanchor_9_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a> he replied -coarsely as he turned away.</p> - -<p>These French peasants must come of a sturdy stock,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> -they are so difficult to kill. They existed somehow—only -the baby died.</p> - -<p>And then they were marched off again, this time to -Carignan, once a town of perhaps 2,500 inhabitants, -of whom some 1,100 remained. Here they were not -treated badly, the garrison consisting of oldish men, -reservists, with little stomach for the atrocities that -followed in the wake of the first army. At Nantillois -some ugly things appear to have happened, but at -Carignan the Mayor managed to <i lang="fr">tenir tête</i>, behaving like -a hero at first and later like a shrewd and far-seeing -man.</p> - -<p>Some day, I hope a volume will be written in honour -of these French mayors. Sermaize, left defenceless, -was an exception. For the most part they stuck to -their posts, shielding and protecting them in every way, -raising indemnities from the very stones, placating irate -commandants, encouraging the stricken, and all too -often dying like gallant gentlemen when the interests -of Kultur demanded that the blood of innocent victims -should smoke upon its altars.</p> - -<p>Madame Breda told me that the Mayor of Nantillois -bought up all the flour he could find in the mills and -shops during the first week of war, hiding it so successfully -the Germans never found it. I confess I received -this information with frank incredulity, for knowing -something of the ways of the gentle Hun, I am profoundly -convinced that if you set him in the middle -of the Desert of Sahara, telling him that a grain of -gold had been hidden there, he would nose round till -he found it. And it wouldn't take him long, for his -scent is keen. But Madame was positive. French -wit was more than a match for German cunning, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> -the flour was distributed by a man whose life would -not have been worth five minutes' purchase if his -"crime" had been found out.</p> - -<p>In spite of the flour, however, and in spite of the -washing that brought Madame in a small weekly wage, -"ce n'était pas gai, vous savez." One doesn't feel -hilarious on a ration of half-a-pound of meat per week, -half-a-pound of black bread per day, and potatoes and -vegetables doled out by an irascible Commandant.</p> - -<p>I wonder what we would feel like if we were obliged -to go to a German officer and beg from him our food? -We would starve first? But what if two small hungry -children clutched at our skirts and wailed for bread? -When the American Relief came in and the people were -able to buy various necessaries, including bacon at -one franc sixty a pound, things were a little better. -To those who were too poor to buy, that gem of a -Mayor gave <i lang="fr">bons</i> (free orders).</p> - -<p>And so the months went by. Then one day soldiers -tramped about selecting two people from one family, -three from another, separating mother from daughter, -sister from sister, but happily this time including the -whole Breda family on their list.</p> - -<p>"You are to go away."</p> - -<p>"Away? Ah, God, where?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, to Germany, and then to Morocco."</p> - -<p>The poor wretches, believing them, were filled with -infinite grief and dismay. They were crowded into -wagons and driven to Longuyon, herded there like -cattle for sixteen days, and finally taken through -Germany into Switzerland and thence into France. In -Germany women wearing Red Cross badges gave them -food, treating them well; at the Swiss frontier they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> -were rigorously searched, a man who had one hundred -and fifty francs in German gold being given paper -money instead, and losing, if Madame Breda was -correctly informed, thirty-six francs on the exchange.</p> - -<p>At Annemasse there is a <i lang="fr">Bureau des Réfugiés</i> so -splendidly organised that <i lang="fr">repatriés</i> can be put into -immediate touch with their relatives, no mean feat -when you think of the dismemberment of Northern -France.</p> - -<p>So behold Madame Breda joyfully telegraphing to -Madame Lassanne, and the latter waiting at the -station with tears raining down her face, and limbs -trembling so much they refused to support her!</p> - -<p>Poor soul! The end of her calvary was not yet. -Roger did not know her. And his nerves had been so -much affected by what he, baby though he was, had -gone through that for weeks he hid his face in his -grandmother's arms and screamed when his mother -tried to kiss him. Screamed, too, at sudden noises, at -the approach of any stranger, or at sight of a brightly-lighted -room. No wonder he howled at the uniform.</p> - -<p>And old Madame Breda, staunch, loyal thing that she -was, had been too sorely tried. The long strain, the -months of haunting anxiety and dread had eaten away -her strength, and soon after coming to Bar she sank -quietly to rest.</p> - -<p>She talked to me of Carignan once or twice, saying -it was a vast training-camp for German recruits, mere -boys (<i lang="fr">des vrais gosses</i>), few over seventeen years of -age.</p> - -<p>Once a French aviator, hovering over the town, was -obliged to descend owing to some engine trouble. He -was caught, tried as a spy and condemned to death.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> -Asking for a French priest to hear his last confession, -he was told it could not be permitted. A German -ministered to him instead (what a refinement of -cruelty!), and remaining with him to the end, declared -afterwards that he died "comme un héros, un Chrétien, -et un brave."</p> - -<p>Another aviator, similarly caught, was also shot, -though both, by every rule of the game, should have -been treated as prisoners of war.</p> - -<p>"Ah, Mademoiselle, c'est un vrai calvaire qu'on -souffre là bas," cried Madame Breda, tears standing -thick in her eyes; and thinking of other <i lang="fr">repatriées</i> whom -I had met and whose stories burned in the memory -I knew that she spoke only the truth. For <i lang="fr">là-bas</i> is -prison. It is home robbed of all its sacredness, its -beauty, its joy, its privacy; it is life without freedom, -and under the shadow of a great fear. Shall I tell you -of those other <i lang="fr">repatriées</i>? I promised to spare you -atrocities, but there is a martyrdom which should call -forth all our sympathy and all our indignation, and -they, poor souls, have endured it.</p> - - -<p class="center">II</p> - -<p>Madame Ballay is a young, slight, dark-eyed woman, -wife of a railway employee, into whose room I stumbled -accidentally one day when looking for some one else, -an "accident" which happened so frequently in Bar -we took it as a matter of course. No matter how -unceremonious our entry, our reception was invariably -the same, and almost invariably had the same ending—that -of a new name inscribed upon our books, a fresh<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> -recipient gratefully acknowledging much-needed help. -Almost invariably, but not quite. Once at least the -ending was not routine. A dark landing, several -doors. I knock tentatively at one, a voice shouts -<i lang="fr">Entrez</i>, and I fling open the door to see—well, to see -a blue uniform lying on the floor and a large individual -rubbing himself vigorously with a towel. "Pardon, -Madame!" he exclaimed, pausing in his towelling. He -was not in the least nonplussed, but for my part, not -having come to France to study the nude, I fled—fled -precipitately and nearly fatally, for the stairs were as -dark as the landing, and my eyes were still filled with -the wonder of the vision. And though many months -have gone by, I am still at a loss to know why he told -me to come in!</p> - -<p>But nothing will ever teach me discretion, and so -I still knock at wrong doors, though not always with -such disastrous results, and often with excellent ones, -as it has enabled us to help people who would have been -too shy or too proud to knock at <em>our</em> door and ask to -be inscribed upon our books.</p> - -<p>When the war broke out the Ballays, whose home was -down Belmont way, were living in Longuyon, where -Monsieur had been sent some two years before. They -had very few friends, so when the mobilisation order -came, when from every church steeple rang out the clear, -vibrant, emotion-laden call to arms, Madame was left -alone and unprotected with her baby girl. There was -no time to get away. The Germans surged over the -frontier with incredible swiftness, and almost before the -inhabitants knew that war had begun were in the -streets. Then realisation came with awful rapidity, -for Hell broke loose in the town. Shots rang out, wild<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> -screams of terror, oaths, shoutings, the rush of frightened -feet, of heavy, brutal pursuit. Women's sobs throbbed -upon the air, the wailing of children rose shrill and high; -drunken ribald song, hammering upon doors, orders -sharply given! Madame cowering in her kitchen -saw ... heard.... She gathered her child into her -arms. Where could they fly for safety? The door -was broken open, a German, drunk, maddened, rushed -in and seized her. Struggling, she screamed for help, -and her screams attracted the attention of some men -in a room below. They dashed up, and the soldier, -alarmed, perhaps ashamed, slunk away. Snatching up -the child, the unfortunate mother fled to the woods. -There, with many other women and children, she -wandered for two days and two nights. They had no -food, nothing but one tin of condensed milk, which they -managed to open and with which they coloured the -water they gave the children. Starving, exhausted, -unable to make her way down through France, she -was compelled to return to the town, three-quarters -of which, including the richer residential portions, had -been wantonly fired. The few people she had known -were gone, her own house destroyed. She wandered -about the streets for five days and nights, penniless and -starving, existing on scraps picked up in the gutter, -sleeping in doorways, on the steps of the church. -Then she stumbled upon a Belmont woman living in a -street that had escaped destruction. The woman was -kind to her, taking her in and giving her lodging, but -unable to give her food, as she had not enough for -herself.</p> - -<p>Madame was nearly desperate when some German -soldiers asked her to do their washing, paying her a few<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> -sous, with which she was able to buy food for herself -and the child. But she was often hungry, there was -never enough for two. The men were reservists, -oldish and quiet, doing no harm and living decently. -It was the first armies that were guilty of atrocities, -and in Longuyon their score runs high. They behaved -like madmen. Ninety civilians were wantonly shot -in the streets, among them being some women and -children. A woman, Madame said, took refuge in a cellar -with several children—five, I think, in all; a soldier -rushed in with levelled rifle. She flung herself in front -of the little ones, but with an oath he fired, flung her -body on one side and then killed the children. Soldiers -leaning from a window shot a man as he walked down -the street. They caught some civilians, told one he -was innocent, another that he had fired on them, -shot some, allowed others to go free; they quarrelled -among themselves, they shot one another. Women, as -a rule, they did not shoot. But the women paid—paid -the heaviest price that can be demanded of them; -nor did the presence of her children save one mother -from shame. I have heard of these soldiers clambering -to the roofs and crawling like evil beasts from skylight -to skylight, peering down into dark attics and roof-rooms, -searching for the shuddering victims who found -no way of escape. And then, their rage and fury spent, -they swept on, crying, "Paris kaput, À Paris, Calais, -Londres. London kaput. In a fortnight" ... and -the reservists marching in took their places.</p> - -<p>For seven months Madame Ballay was unable to -leave the town. She knew nothing of what was happening -in France, heard no news of her husband, did not -know whether he was dead or alive.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span></p> - -<p>"But I was well off," she said, "because of the -washing. There were women—oh, rich women, -Mademoiselle, bien élevées—who slowly starved in the -streets, homeless, houseless, living on scraps, on offal -and refuse. Sometimes we spared them a little, but -we had never enough for ourselves."</p> - -<p>Seven months jealously guarding the two-year old -baby from harm and then repatriation, a long, weary -journey into Germany, a night in a fortress, then by -slow stages into Switzerland and over the frontier to -France.</p> - -<p>What a home-coming it might have been! But the -baby had sickened; underfed and improperly nourished, -it grew rapidly worse, it had no strength with which to -fight, and M. Ballay, hurrying down from Bar-le-Duc -in response to his wife's telegram (she discovered his -whereabouts through the <i lang="fr">Bureau des Réfugiés</i>), arrived -just two hours after the last sod had been laid upon its -tiny grave.</p> - -<p>"She was my only comfort during all those months," -the poor creature said, tears raining down her face, "and -now I have lost her." When she had recovered her -self-control I told her I knew of people who refused to -believe stories of atrocities, and would certainly refuse -to believe hers.</p> - -<p>"It is quite true," she said simply, "I <span class="smcap">SAW</span> it," and -then she added that the reservists sometimes gave food -to the starving women who were reduced to beg for -bread. "When they had it they would give soup to -the children, but often they had none to spare, and the -women suffered terribly."</p> - -<p>Think of it, in all the rigour of a northern winter. -Think of this for delicately nurtured women. Madame<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> -shivered as she spoke of it, and it was easy to tell what -had painted the dark shadows under her eyes and the -weary lines—lines that should not have been there for -many a long year yet—round her mouth.</p> - - -<p class="center">III</p> - -<p>For us the whole system—if, indeed, there is any -system—of repatriation was involved in mystery. -Convoys were sent back at erratic intervals, chosen at -haphazard, young and old, strong and weak, just anyhow -as if in blind obedience to a whim. No method -appeared to govern procedure, convoys being sometimes -sent off just before an offensive, sometimes during -weeks of comparative calm.</p> - -<p>Probably the key to the mystery lay in the military -situation; we noticed, for instance, that many were -sent back just before the offensive at Verdun. Food -problems, too, may have exerted an influence, as every -<i lang="fr">repatriée</i> assured us that Germany was starving. In -the winter of 1915-1916 so many of these unfortunate -people crossed the frontier, the Society decided to -equip a Sanatorium for them in the Haute-Savoie, -near Annemasse. Many were tubercular, others -threatened with consumption, but no sooner was the -Sanatorium ready than the Germans, as might be -expected, stopped the exodus, and it was not until the -following winter or autumn that they began to come in -numbers again. Of these, a doctor who worked among -them for many weeks gave me a pathetic account. -Their plight, she said, was pitiable. They wept -unrestrainedly at finding themselves on French soil<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> -again; even the strongest had lost her nerve. Shaken, -trembling in every limb, starting at every sound, they -had all the appearance of people suffering from severe -mental shock; many were so confused as to be almost -unintelligible, others had lost power of decision, clearness -of thought, directness of action. The old were -like children. There were women who sat day after -day, plunged in profound silence from which nothing -could rouse them. Others chattered, chattered unceasingly -all day long, babbling to any one who would listen, -utterly unable to control themselves. Some were -thin to emaciation, others, on the contrary, were rosy -and plump. Of food they never had enough. That -was the complaint of them all. The American supplies -kept them from starvation. "One would have died -of hunger only for that," they said, but the Germans -would not allow free distribution. What they got they -had to pay for, but in some Communes the Mayors -were able to arrange that penniless folk should pay -after the war, <i>i. e.</i> the Commune lent the money or -paid on condition that it would be refunded later.</p> - -<p>Coffee made chiefly from acorns, black bread, half-a-pound -of meat per week (a supply which sometimes -failed), these Germany provided—that is to say, allowed -to be sold, and it is but just to add that though every -woman declared that the Boches themselves went -hungry, those I spoke to added that they never -tampered with the American supplies, though one or -two mentioned that inferior black flour was sometimes -substituted for white of a better quality. Paraffin was -rarely obtainable, and fuel scarce.</p> - -<p>Martial law, of course, prevails. House doors must -never be locked, windows must be left unbarred, there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> -are fixed hours for going to the fields, fixed hours after -which one must be indoors at night. Any soldier or -officer may walk into any house at any hour he chooses. -"You never know when the butt-end of a rifle will -burst your door open and a soldier walk in." A man -passing down the street and looking in at a window -sees a woman with her children sitting down to their -midday meal. It is frugal enough, but it smells good.</p> - -<p>He realises that he is hungry, he stalks in and helps -himself to what he wants. If they go without, what -matter? Falsehoods of every kind are freely circulated. -France has been defeated; England has betrayed her; -the English have seized Calais; the English have been -driven into the sea; London has fallen. With the -utmost duplicity every effort is made to undermine -faith in the Alliance, to persuade people that England -is a traitor to their cause, hoodwinking them in order -to gain her own ends.</p> - -<p>A peasant told one of our workers that she, too, had -been a prisoner, and though hungry, was not otherwise -ill-treated. One day when she and the other women -went to get their soup the Germans, as they ladled it -out, said, "There is dessert for you to-day" (the -dessert being repatriation). "Yes, you are going back -to France; but there is no bread there, so we don't -know how you will live. You must go through Switzerland, -where there is no food either. The best thing -for you to do is to throw yourselves into Lake -Constance."</p> - -<p>It is by such apish tricks as these that the lot of the -unhappy people is made almost intolerable.</p> - -<p>No letters, no newspapers, no news, only a few guarded -lines at rare intervals from a prisoner in Germany—<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> -is it any wonder that the strongest nerves give way, -and that hysterical women creep over the frontier to -France? They are alone, they are cold and hungry, and -oh, how desperately they are afraid! They dare not -chat together in the street, a soldier soon stops all <span class="smcap">THAT</span>, -and at any moment some pitiful unintentional offence -may send them under escort into Germany.</p> - -<p>A woman owns a foal, chance offers her an opportunity -of selling it; she does so, and is sentenced to -imprisonment in Germany for a year. She has sinned -against an unknown or imperfectly understood law. -She has no counsel to defend her; her trial, if she is -honoured with one, is the hollowest mockery.</p> - -<p>There is living in the rue St Mihiel in Bar-le-Duc, or -there was in the spring of 1917, a woman who spent -six months in a German prison. Her offence? A very -natural one. She had heard nothing of her husband -for two years; then one day a neighbour told her she -had reason to believe that he was a prisoner in Germany. -A hint to that effect had come in a letter. If Madame -wrote to a soldier in such and such a prison he might -be able to give her news of him.</p> - -<p>The letter was written, despatched, and opened by -the German censor. Now it is a crime to try and elicit -information about a prisoner even if he happens to -be your husband, and even if you have heard nothing -of him for two long years. Madame was separated -from her children and speedily found herself in a German -prison—one, too, which was not reserved for French -or Belgian women, but was the common prison of a -large town. Here she was classed with the "drunks -and disorderlies," the riff-raff, women of no character, -and classed, too, with Belgian nuns and gentlewomen,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> -many of them of the highest rank, whose offence was -not that of writing letters, but of shielding, or being -accused of shielding, Belgian soldiers from the Germans -who were hunting them down like rats.</p> - -<p>Compelled to wear prison clothes, to eat the miserable -prison fare, work and associate with women of the -worst character, many of them had been there for years, -and some were serving life-sentences. Representations -had been made on their behalf, but for a long time in -vain. Then as a great concession they were given -permission to wear their own clothes and exercise in -a yard apart, but the concession was a grudging one, -and when one of the nuns dared to ask for more food -she was promptly transferred back again to the main -building.</p> - -<p>When the release of prisoners is being discussed -round the Peace Table, it is to be hoped that the needs -of these women will not be forgotten.</p> - - -<p class="center">IV</p> - -<p>It happened to be my fortune to visit within a fortnight -two women, natives of Conflans-Jarny, both -<i lang="fr">repatriées</i> and neither aware that the other was in the -town. Indeed, I think they were unacquainted. Yet -each told me identically the same story. One was the -wife of a railway employee, the other of rather better -position and a woman of much refinement of mind. -Both came to Bar early in 1917, and both were profoundly -moved as they told their tale.</p> - -<p>"We did not know the Germans were coming," -they said. "People thought they would pass over on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> -the other side of the hill." And so, in spite of heavy -anxiety, Conflans went about its usual affairs one -brilliant August day. There were only a few troops -in the town—even the military authorities do not seem -to have suspected danger; but the sun had not -travelled far across the cloudless sky when down from -the hill a woman, half distraught, half dead with fear -came flying.</p> - -<p>"The Germans!" she gasped, and looking up Conflans -saw a wide tongue of flame leaping upwards—the -woman's farmhouse burning—and wave upon wave of -grey-coated men surging like a wind-driven sea down -every road, down the hill-side. The soldiers seized -their rifles, their hasty preparations were soon made, -they poured volley after volley into the oncoming mass, -they fought till every cartridge was expended and their -comrades lay thick on the ground. Then the Germans, -who outnumbered them ten, twenty, fifty to one, -clubbed their rifles and the massacre began. There was -no quarter given that day. "They beat them to death, -Mademoiselle, and we—ah, God! we their wives, their -sisters, their mothers looked on and saw it done." -Conflans lay defenceless under the pitiless sun. Some -twenty-seven civilians, including the priest, were -promptly butchered in the streets, and one young -mother, whose baby, torn from her arms, was tossed -upon a bayonet, was compelled to dig a hole in her -garden, compelled to put the little lacerated body in a -box, compelled to bury it and fill in the grave. Other -things happened, too, of which neither woman cared to -speak.</p> - -<p>And so Conflans-Jarny passed into German hands.</p> - -<p>As time wore on Russian prisoners were encamped<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> -there. They worked in the fields, in the mines and in -the hospitals.</p> - -<p>"Ah, les pauvres gens! Figurez-vous, Mademoiselle, -in the winter when snow was on the ground, when -there was a wind—oh, but a wind of ice! they used to -march past our street clad only in their cotton suits. -Some had not even a shirt. They were dying of cold, -but they were so strong they could not die. They -were blue and pinched. They shook as if they had an -ague. Sometimes, but not often, we were able to give -them a little hot coffee; they were so grateful, they -tried to thank us.... (Tears were pouring down -Madame Cholley's face as she spoke.) I worked in the -hospital because I had no money with which to buy -food—they gave me two sous an hour—and I used to -see <i lang="fr">les pauvres Russes</i> grubbing in the dust-bins and -manure heaps looking for scraps; they would gnaw -filth, rotten vegetable stumps, offal, tearing it with -their teeth like dogs. Once as they marched I saw one -step into a field to pick up a carrot that lay on the -ground. The guard shot him dead. And those that -worked in the mines—ah, God only knows what they -suffered. They lived underground, one did not know, -but strange stories reached us. So many disappeared, -they say they were killed down there and buried in the -mine."</p> - -<p>Then silence fell on the little room, silence broken -only by the sound of Madame's quiet weeping.</p> - -<p>Presently she told me that the allowance of food was -one pound of coffee a month, coffee made chiefly from -acorns, four tins of condensed milk at nineteen sous a -tin, for three people, and one pound of fat per head per -month. Haricot beans were not rationed, and bread she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> -must have had, too, but I omitted to make a note of the -amount. There was no paraffin, so in the winter she -tried to make candles out of thread and oil, but the -latter was dear and scarce. Meat "had not been seen -in the commune for a year."</p> - -<p>"Oh yes, the Germans are starving."</p> - -<p>This was the text from which every <i lang="fr">repatrié</i> tried to -draw comfort, and it may be inferred that there was -shortage in the villages. Once I even heard of shortage -in a hospital, my informant being a young man, manager -of a big branch store in the Northern Meuse, who had -been married just three months before war was declared. -He was wounded in August 1914 and taken to Germany, -where one leg was amputated, the other, also badly -injured, being operated on at least twice. Yet in -December 1916 it was not healed. He was well -treated on the whole, he told me, but his food was -wretched. Coffee and bread in the morning, thin soup -and vegetables at midday, coffee and bread at night.</p> - -<p>"When we complained the orderlies said we got -exactly the same food as they did," and he, too, added -the unfailing, "Germany is starving."</p> - -<p>A pathetic little picture he and his wife made in -their shabby room, she a young, pretty, capable thing -who nursed him assiduously, he helpless on his <i lang="fr">chaise-longue</i> -with yet another operation hanging over him. -The wound was suppurating, it was feared some shrapnel -still remained in the leg. Pension? He had none, -not even the <em>allocation</em>. He had applied, of course, but -was told he must wait till after the war. He had not -even got the <i lang="fr">Medaille Militaire</i> or the <i lang="fr">Croix de Guerre</i>, -though he said it was customary in France to give -either one or the other to mutilated and blinded men.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span></p> - -<p>There must be many sad home-comings for these -<i lang="fr">repatriés</i>. So many get back to find that those they -loved have been killed or have died while they were -away, so many return to find Death wrapping his wings -closely about the makeshift home that awaits them.</p> - -<p>"They sent me to Troyes because my husband was -working on the railway there, but for a whole day I -could get no news of him. Then they said he was at -Châlons in the hospital. I hurried there—he died two -hours after my arrival in my arms."</p> - -<p>How often one hears such stories. And yet one -day the world may hear a still more tragic one, the day -when the curtain of silence and darkness that has fallen -over the kidnapped thousands of Lille and Belgium is -lifted, and we know the truth of them at last.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span></p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII</a></h2> -</div> -<p class="center">STORM-WRACK FROM VERDUN</p> - - -<p class="center">I</p> - -<p>"The French are evacuating some villages near -Verdun, and I hear there are a number of refugees at -the Marché Couvert to-night," one of the coterie remarked -as she came in one evening from her rounds. -It seemed a little odd that villages should be evacuated -by the <em>French</em> just then, but we had long since ceased -to be surprised at anything. In the War Zone everything -is possible and the unexpected is the probable, -so we piled on waterproofs and goloshes and woollies, -for it was a cold, wet night, and set forth in all our -panoply of ugliness for the Covered Market.</p> - -<p>The streets were as dark as the pit, only a pale cold -gleam showing where the river lay. The sky was -heavily overcast, a keen wind cut down from the -north. The pavement on the quay was broken and -rough, we splashed into pools, we jolted into crevasses, -we bent our heads to the whistling storm, we reached -the market at last. The wide gates were open, and the -vast floor, with its rows of empty stalls, loomed like a -vault before us. The heavy, sickly odour of stale -vegetables, of sausage and of meat, of unaired space -where humanity throngs on several days a week -clutched at us as we went in. We were to become very -familiar with it in the weeks that followed—weeks<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> -during which it daily grew heavier, sicklier, more -nauseating, more horrible.</p> - -<p>On the left of the market as you enter from the quay -there is a broad wooden staircase which leads to a still -broader wooden gallery that runs right round the -building. At the top we turned to the right. The -gallery was dimly lighted, dark figures huddled on it -here and there; we crossed the lower end and found -ourselves in a wide space, really a large unenclosed -room which had been hastily improvised as a kitchen. -A short counter divided it into two very unequal -portions, in the smaller being some old <i lang="fr">armoires</i>, two -large steamers or boilers, a table piled with plates, -dishes and small and handleless bowls, used instead of -cups. Another littered with glasses, and in the corner -a big barrel of wine.</p> - -<p>Two or three women were probing the contents of -the boilers; men rushed excitedly about, one was -chopping bread, another filling jugs with wine, a <i lang="fr">garde-champêtre</i> -with a hoarse voice was shouting unintelligible -orders, a gendarme or two hung about getting -in everybody's way, and in the outer space seethed a -mob of men, women and children in every condition -of dishevelment, mud, misery and distress. Five or -six long tables with benches of the light garden-seat -variety crossed this space. Seated as tightly as they -could be squeezed together were more refugees devouring -a steaming soup. Everything wore an air of -confusion; the light was bad, one paraffin lamp -swaying dimly over the scene. We saw a door, guarded -by two officials, <i lang="fr">garde-champêtres</i>, or something of the -kind; we passed through, and there we saw a sight -which I am convinced no one of us will ever forget.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span></p> - -<p>Picture an enormous room, like a barrack dormitory. -There are windows—some five or six—on each side. -Half-way down and opposite one another there are -two stoves in which good fires are burning. The glow -from the open doors falls on the gloom and throws -into relief the stooped figures, broken with fatigue, -that cluster dejectedly round them. A lamp throws -fitful shadows. The air is brown. Perhaps you think -this an absurd thing to say, but it was so. It hung -like a pale brown veil over the room, and as weeks went -by the colour deepened, and in breathing it one had the -sensation of drawing something solid into one's lungs. -It smelt, too, with an indescribable smell that became -intensified every day, until at last a time came when it -required a definite effort to penetrate it. It seemed to -hurl you back from the doorway; you began to think -it must be sentient. It was certainly stifling, poisonous, -fœtid, and as I write I seem to feel it in my nostrils -again, seem to feel the same nausea that seized us -when we breathed it then. Over all the floor-space -there is straw, thick, tossed-up straw, through which, -running past the stoves, are two narrow lanes, one -down either side. And on the straw lie human beings, -not many as yet, only those who have supped, or who, -waiting for the meal, have thrown themselves down in -the last stages of physical and mental exhaustion. -Babies wail, women are sobbing, the <i lang="fr">gardes-champêtres</i> -shout in rough voices. Bales, bundles, hand-grips, -baskets lie on the straw; there an old woman is lying -wretchedly, her head on a canvas bag; here two boys -are sprawling across one another in heavy, uncouth, -abandoned attitudes.</p> - -<p>We go about among the people talking to them, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> -they are dazed and weary. Did we learn that night -that the great attack upon Verdun had begun, or did -we only know of it some days later? So packed with -incident were those first days I cannot remember, but -it seems to me now that knowledge came later, and that -we came home that night wondering, questioning, our -hearts filled with pity for those we had left homeless -upon that awful straw.</p> - -<p>We came again into the outer room. More refugees -were arriving, little groups of bewildered creatures, -muddy, travel-stained, dog-weary, yet wonderfully -patient and resigned. There are no sanitary arrangements -of any kind in the building, there is not a basin, -nor a towel, nor a cake of soap of which the refugees -can make use.</p> - -<p>The next evening we go again, supposing that the -evacuation must be complete, that this river of human -misery will cease to flow through the town, but little -by little we realise that it is only beginning.</p> - -<p>Days lengthen into weeks, and still the refugees come -through. We know now that Verdun is in danger, -that the Germans have advanced twelve kilomètres; -we watch breathlessly for news, the town is listening, -intent, anxious, and every day the crowds at the market -grow denser. We spend much of our time there now, -we have brought over basins, and soap and towels; -we have put a table in the inner room, so that those -who will may refresh themselves and wash. The -rooms are packed. There must be at least three -hundred or four hundred people, and still more drift -in. Some have been in open cattle trucks for thirty-six -hours under rain and snow, for the north wind has -become keener and the rain has hardened into fine<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> -sleety snow; it is bitterly cold, the roads and streets -are awash with mud, women's skirts are soddened -to the knee, men are splashed shoulder high. A number -of people have fallen ill <i lang="fr">en route</i>, others, seriously ill, -have been compelled to leave their beds and struggle -as best they might with the healthy in their rush to -safety. We hear that the civil hospital is full, that -babies have been born on the journey down—been -born and have died and were buried by the way. -Despair rides on many a shoulder, fear still darkens -many eyes. Some have escaped from a storm of -shell-fire, many have had to walk long distances, for -the railway lines have been cut. Verdun is isolated—Nixieville -is the nearest point to which a train may go—and -all have left their homes unguarded, some being -already blown to atoms, others momently threatened -with a like fate.</p> - -<p>In spite of all our anxiety as we made our way to the -market that second night, laden with basins and jugs, -<i lang="fr">seaux hygiéniques</i>, and various other comforts, we -could not help laughing. We must have cut funny -figures staggering along in the darkness with our -uncouth burdens. Happily it <span class="smcap">WAS</span> dark, and then not -happily, as some one trips over an unseen obstacle -and is only saved from an ignominious sprawl in the -mire by wild evolutions shattering to the nerve. At -the market we cast what might be called our "natural -feelings" on one side and bored our way into the -throng, our strange utensils and luggage desperately -exposed to view. <i lang="fr">Que voulez-vous? C'est la guerre!</i> -The phrase covers many vicissitudes, but it did not -cover the shyest of our coterie when, having deposited -her burden on the gallery for a moment in order to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> -help a poor woman, she heard a crash and a round -French oath, and turning, beheld a certain official -doing a weird cake-walk over things that were never -intended to be trodden upon by man. It was the same -shy member whose indignation at the lack of proper -accommodation bore all her native timidity away -and enabled her to persuade the same official to curtain -off a small corner at the far end of the gallery and furnish -it as a toilet-room for the women, a corner which -to our eternal amusement was ever afterwards known -as "le petit coin des dames anglaises." However, the -<i lang="fr">petit coin</i> was not in existence for two or three days, -and while it was in process of manufacture we were -more than once moved to violence of language, though -we realised that physical fatigue may reach a point -at which, if conditions be unfavourable, no veneer of -civilisation can save some individuals from a lapse -into primitive ways.</p> - -<p>In the inner room the crowd was dense as we struggled -in with our apparatus for washing. There was something -essentially sordid in the scene. The straw -looked dirty, the people were muddier, more wretched. -Many were weeping, and very many lying in unrestful -contorted attitudes upon the ground. In such a crowd -no one dare leave her luggage unguarded, and so it -was either gripped tightly to the body, even in sleep, -or else was utilised as a pillow. And no one of those -who came in by train or <i lang="fr">camion</i> was allowed to bring -more than he or she could carry.</p> - -<p>All the misery, all the suffering, all the heart-break -of war seemed concentrated there, and then quite -suddenly out of ugliness and squalor came beauty. A -tall woman with resigned, beautiful face detached<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> -herself from the throng, a naked baby wrapped in a -towel in her arms. As unconcernedly, as unselfconsciously -as if she were at home in her own kitchen -she came to the table, filled a basin with warm water, -and sitting down, bathed the lusty crowing thing that -kicked, and chewed its fists, gurgling with delight.</p> - -<p>It was the second time she had been evacuated, she -told us. She had seven children, her husband was a -farmer and well-to-do. Their home destroyed, they -had escaped in August 1914, taking refuge in Verdun, -where they had remained, gathering a little furniture -together again, trying to make a home once more. -She neither wept nor complained. I think she was -long past both. Fate had taken its will of her, she -could but bow her head, impotent in the storm. Her -children, in spite of their experiences, looked neat and -clean, they were nicely spoken and refined in manner. -Soon the dusky shadows of the room swallowed her -up and the human whirlpool swirled round us once -more, from it emerging Monsieur B., the "certain -official," and his wife who merely came to look round, -who made no offer to help, and who must not be -confounded with <span class="smcap">THE</span> Madame B. who was the special -providence of our lives.</p> - -<p>What Monsieur B. thought when he found us more -or less in possession I cannot say, but this I know—that -he, in common with every one with whom our -work brought us into official contact, showed himself -sympathetic, helpful, forbearing and kind. He fell -in with suggestions that must have seemed to him -quixotic to a degree; he never insinuated, as he might -have done, that our activities bordered upon interference, -nor did he ask us how English officials would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> -have received French women if the situation had been -reversed! At first, thinking, no doubt, that the -evacuation was only an affair of two or three days, -none of the charitable women of the town thought it -necessary to visit the Market, so all the care of the -unfortunates was left in the hands of some half-dozen -men; but later on, as the stream continued to pour -through, and the congestion became more and more -acute, many women, some after a hard day's work, -came in the evenings and helped to serve the meals. -Of course, as soon as they took things in hand we slid -into the background, though we found our work just -as engrossing and as imperative as ever, but how -Madame B. could have walked through those rooms -that evening and have gone away without making -the smallest effort to ameliorate the conditions baffled -our comprehension. However, she added to the -gaiety of nations by one remark, so we forgave her. -Seeing some respectably-dressed women who had -obviously neither washed nor combed for days, we -indicated the "washing-stand."</p> - -<p>"We are too tired to-night," they said. "In the -morning...."</p> - -<p>"One would have thought they would have found it -refreshing," we murmured to Madame B., who was -essaying small talk under large difficulties.</p> - -<p>"Ah, yes, I cannot understand it. For me, I wash -myself every night, even if I am tired." The exquisiteness -of that "<i lang="fr">même</i> si je suis fatiguée" carried us -through many a hectic hour.</p> - -<p>And hours at the market were apt to be hectic. -The serving of meals was a delirium. In vain we -begged the guards to keep the door of communication<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> -closed, and allow only as many as there was room for -at the tables to come to the "dining-room" at a time. -They admitted the soundness of the scheme, but they -made no attempt to carry it out. Consequently, no -sooner was a meal ready than ravenous people poured -out in swarms, snatched places at the tables and filled -up every inch of space between, ready to fall into a -chair the moment it was vacated. We had to elbow, -push, worm or drive a way from table to table, from -individual to individual; we grew hoarse from shouting -"<i lang="fr">Attention!</i>" We lost time, patience, breath and -energy, and meals that might have been served with -despatch were a kind of wild scrimmage, through -which we "dribbled" with cauldrons of boiling soup -or vast platters of meat, with plates piled like the -leaning Tower of Pisa—be it written in gold upon our -tombstones that the towers never fell—or with telescopic -armsful of glasses and bowls. And against us -rose not only the solid wall of expectant and famished -humanity, but the incoming tide of new arrivals, all -of whom had to pass between the tables and the -serving counters in order to reach the inner room. -Sometimes six hundred had to be fed, sometimes as -many as twelve hundred passed through in a day, and—triumph -of French organisation—very rarely did -supplies run out, very rarely were the big tins of -"singe"<a name="FNanchor_10_10" id="FNanchor_10_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_10_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a> (which the shy member really supposed -was monkey!) brought into play. The meals themselves -were excellent. Hot soup from a good <i lang="fr">pot-au-feu</i> -made from beef with quantities of vegetables, then -the beef served with its carrots and turnips, leeks, etc., -that cooked with it, then cheese or jam, and wine.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> -Coffee and bread in the morning, a three-course meal -at midday, another at six—no wonder Bar-le-Duc was -eulogised. Never had such a reception been dreamed -of. "The food was delicious, excellent.... We shall -have grateful memories of Bar."</p> - -<p>But the awful sleeping accommodation weighed -heavily on our consciences—the brown pall of atmosphere, -the fœtid <span class="smcap">SOLID</span> smell, the murky lamp, the -fitful glow of the fires, and on the floor on the dirty -inadequate straw a dense mass of human beings. -Lying in their clothes just as they came from the -station, or as they left the big <i lang="fr">camions</i> in which many -were driven down, not daring even to unlace their -boots, they were wedged so tightly we thought not even -a child could have found space. Some, tossing in their -sleep, had flung themselves across neighbours too -exhausted to protest; acute discomfort was suggested -in every pose; many were sitting up, propped against -their bundles; children lay anyhow, a heterogenous -mass of arms and legs, or pillowed their heads against -their mothers.</p> - -<p>"Surely," it was said as we came away, "surely -the cup of human misery has never been so full."</p> - -<p>Yet we were told the next day that during the night a -fresh convoy had come in, and that the <i lang="fr">garde-champêtre</i>, -tramping up and down the narrow lane in the straw, -shouted, "Serrez-vous, serrez-vous," forcing the -wretched creatures to be in still closer proximity, to -sleep in even greater discomfort.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="center">II</p> - -<p>Soon the numbers grew too large for the space, and -the long gallery running down from the "dining-room" -was converted into a sleeping apartment, a screen of -white calico or linen serving as an outer wall. The -upper end through which we passed in order to gain -access to the original rooms was utilised for meals, -a number of tables being brought in and ranged as -closely as possible together. Even then the congestion -and confusion continued; they were, indeed, -an integral part of all Marché Couvert activities, but -to our great relief the sleeping quarters were improved. -A number of palliasse cases, the gift of a rich woman -of the town, were filled with straw, and over most we -were able to pin detachable slips made from wheat -bags, an immense number of which—made from -strong, but soft linen thread—had been offered to us -at a moderate price by the Chamber of Commerce -acting through the Mayor. Three of these, or four, -according to the size required, sewn cannily together -made excellent sheets—greatly sought after by the -refugees—indeed, we turned them to all kinds of use -as time went on. The slips were invaluable now, as, -needless to say, the palliasse covers would have been -in a disgusting condition in a week, but it was not -until the Society presented the new dormitory with -twelve iron bedsteads and some camp beds that we -felt that Civilisation was lifting up her head again. -The beds were placed together at the far end of the -dormitory and were primarily intended for sick people -or for better-class women who, unable to find a lodging -in the town, had to accept the doubtful hospitality of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> -the market. Unhappily there were many of these, -and it was heartrending to see women sitting up in the -comfortless chairs all night in the cold eating-place -rather than face the horror of the straw and the -crowded common-room.</p> - -<p>Once the beds were installed that contingency no -longer arose, though Heaven knows the new apartment -was squalid and miserable enough; the beds -ranged at the lower end, the palliasses running in -close-packed rows by each wall, space enough in the -middle to walk between, but no more.</p> - -<p>One day we found one of our camp beds at the upper -end with a fox-terrier sitting on it, and on inquiry -were told that a <i lang="fr">garde</i> had taken it, evicting two poor -old women as he did so. Now we had never intended -those beds for lusty officials, so we very naturally -protested, but a more than tactful hint reduced us to -silence. The <i lang="fr">gardes</i> had it in their power to make -things very unpleasant for us if they felt so inclined; -it would be politic to say nothing. Having no official -standing, we said nothing. What we thought is immaterial. -Later the gendarme was the Don Juan of -an incident to which only a Guy de Maupassant could -do justice. There, in all that misery, in that makeshift -apartment packed with suffering humanity, with -children and young girls, with modest and disgusted -women looking on, human passions broke through -every code of decency and restraint. The scandal -lasted for three days, then the woman was sent away.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile the news from Verdun was becoming -graver. The roads were cut to pieces, motor-cars, -gun-carriages, <i lang="fr">camions</i> were burying themselves axle-deep -in the mire; one road impassable, another was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> -made, but by the time the first was repaired the -second was a slough. The weather, always in league -with the Germans, showed no sign of taking up, wet -snow was falling heavily.... "Three more days of -this and Verdun must fall."</p> - -<p>Soldiers subsequently told us that it was the <i lang="fr">camion</i> -drivers who saved the situation, for they stuck to their -wagons day and night, one snatching rest and sleep -while another drove. They poured through Bar-le-Duc -in hundreds, the roar of traffic thundering down the -Boulevard all day long. In the night we would lie -awake listening. It sounded like a rough sea dragging -back from a stone-strewn shore. Once, if soldier -tales be true, "the Boches could have walked into -Verdun with their rifles over their shoulders. Four -days and four nights we lay in the open, Mademoiselle. -Our trenches were blown to pieces, we were cut off -by the barrage, we had no food but our emergency -rations, no ammunition could reach us. Then our -guns became silent. The Boches, thinking it was a -ruse, a trap, were afraid to come on. They thought -we were reserving fire to mow them down at close -quarters, so they waited twelve hours, and during -that time our <i lang="fr">camions</i> brought the ammunition up, -and when they did come on we were ready for them."</p> - -<p>One lad of twenty, who told me the same tale, was -home on leave when I chanced to visit his mother and -found the family at lunch. To celebrate his return -they were having a little feast—the feast consisting -of a tin of sardines and a bottle of red wine, in addition -to the usual soup and bread. The boy was a handsome -creature, full of life and high spirits, and in no way -daunted by experiences that would have tried the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> -nerve of many an older man. He had been buried -alive three times, twice by the collapse of a trench, -once by that of a dug-out into which he and four -others crawled under a storm of shells. "Fortunately -I was the first to go in, for a shell burst just outside, -<em>ploomb</em>! killed three and wounded one of my companions. -The wounded man and I dug and scratched -our way out at the back."</p> - -<p>He, too, he said, had been without food for four days.</p> - -<p>"Weren't you hungry?" his mother asked, but he -shook his head.</p> - -<p>"One isn't hungry when the <i lang="fr">copain</i> (pal) on the -right is blown to atoms, and the <i lang="fr">copain</i> on the left is -bleeding to death." Then followed casualty details -that filled us with horror.</p> - -<p>"I saw men go mad up there. They dashed their -brains out against walls, they shot themselves. Oh, it -was just hell! The shells fell so thick you could -hardly put a franc between them—thousands in an -hour. The French lost heavily, but the Germans.... -I tell you, Mademoiselle, I have seen them climbing -over a wall of their own dead that high"—he touched -his breast—"to get at us. They came on in close -formation, drunk with ether. Oh, yes, it is quite -true, we could smell the ether in the French trenches. -I have seen the first lines throw away their rifles and -link arms as they staggered to attack. Oh, we <i lang="fr">fauché'd</i> -them! But for me, I like the bayonet, you drive it -in, you twist it round"—he made an expressive noise -impossible to reproduce—"they are afraid of the -bayonet, the Boches. Ah, it is fine...."</p> - -<p>He is the only man I have ever spoken to who told -me he wanted to go back.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span></p> - -<p>Day after day we watched breathlessly for the -<i lang="fr">communiqués</i>; evening after evening we went to the -market hoping for better news, but there was no lifting -as yet in the storm-cloud that hung above the horizon. -And still the refugees poured through. We spent the -greater part of each day at the market now, snatching -meals at odd hours, and turning our hands to anything. -We swept floors, we stuffed palliasses with straw—but -we don't recommend this as a parlour game—we -helped to serve meals, we washed never-diminishing -piles of plates and bowls, forks and knives, we put -old ladies to bed, we made cups of chocolate for them -when they were unable to tackle the <i lang="fr">pot-au-feu</i>, we -chopped mountains of bread and cheese (our hands -were like charwomen's), we distributed chocolate and -"scarlet stew"—both gifts from the American Relief -Committee—we sorted the sheep from the goats at -night and—the <i lang="fr">garde</i> apart—kept the new dormitory -select. We became expert in cutting up enormous -joints of meat, our implements a short-handled knife -invariably coated with grease, a fork when we could -get one, and a small wooden board. So expert, indeed, -that one day a woman hovered round as we sliced and -cut and hacked, watching us intently for some minutes. -Then, "Are you a butcher?" she asked. It was an -equivocal compliment, but well meant. You see, she -was a butcher herself, and I suppose it would have -comforted her to talk to one of the fraternity.</p> - -<p>And as we slice the turmoil rises round us. A woman -sits down to table and bursts into violent uncontrolled -weeping; a poor old creature wanders forlornly about, -finally making her way past the counter to the boiler -where the soup is bubbling. What does she want?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> -"To put some wood on the fire. She is cold, and where -is her chair? Some one has taken it away." Her -brain has given way under the strain of the last five -days and she thinks she is at home. Snatches of -conversation float above the din. "It is three days -since I have touched hot food." "We slept in the -fields last night." "Mais abandonner tout." Tears -follow this pathetic little phrase. A man and woman -together, both over eighty, white-haired and palsied, -stray up to the counter. They cannot eat, they want -so very little, just some wine. The woman's skirts -drip as she waits; she has fallen into a stream as she -fled from the bombardment. They are established in -a corner where they mutter and nod, gibberish mostly, -for the old man's wits are wandering.</p> - -<p>Suddenly the table begins to rock, one end rises -convulsively from the ground, plates and dishes begin -to slide ominously. An earthquake? Only a great -brindled hound that some one tied to the table leg -when we were not watching. He lay down, slept -happily, smelled dinner, has risen to his majestic -height and a wreck is upon us. The table sways more -ominously, then Fate, in the shape of the pretty -Pre-Raphaelitish <i lang="fr">femme-de-ménage</i> of the market, -swoops down upon him and sends him yowling into -the crowd, through which he cuts a cataclysmal way. -Dogs materialise out of space, we are sometimes tempted -to believe. They live desperate lives, are under -everybody's feet, appear, and disappear meteor-wise, -leaving trails of oaths behind them. A small child -plants himself on the floor, and seizing one of these -itinerant quadrupeds, tries to make it eat its own tail. -The dog prefers to eat the child; a wild skirmish<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> -ensues, there are shrieks and yowls that rend the -heavens, then a covey of women kick the dog into -space, and snatching up the child, carry him to the inner -room, where they hold a parliament over him amid a -babel of tongues that puts biblical history to shame.</p> - -<p>A soldier, mud-stained, down from the trenches, -comes to look for his wife; a tall girl in a black straw -cart-wheel hat, plentifully adorned with enormous -white daisies, flits here and there; a coarse, burly man -who has looked on the wine when it is red and who is -wearing a <i lang="fr">peau-de-bicque</i> (goat-skin coat), which I -regard with every suspicion, tries to thrust half-a-franc -into my hand. Then comes an alarm. The -refugees are not told of it, but thirty Taubes are said -to be approaching the town. The meal goes on a -little more breathlessly, and we carry soup and meat -wondering what will happen if the sickening crash -comes. But the French <i lang="fr">avions</i> chase the Germans -away.... Late that night I saw the half-witted old -woman asleep on the floor, sitting up, her back propped -against a child's body, her knees drawn up to her -mouth.</p> - - -<p class="center">III</p> - -<p>"There are refugees at the Ferme du Popey too."</p> - -<p>Surely there are refugees everywhere! The quarters -at the market have long since proved grotesquely -inadequate, for not even the "Serrez-vous, serrez-vous" -of the <i lang="fr">garde</i> could pack three people upon -floor space for one, so schoolrooms and barrack-rooms -were requisitioned elsewhere, and now even the -resources of the farm are being drawn upon. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> -procession of broken, despairing people seemed never-ending. -We met them in every street, trailing pitifully -through the mire, or leading farm wagons piled high -with household goods. Those at the farm had all -come down in carts, it was said, many being days on -the road, so, thinking we might be of use, we waded -out to find the extensive <i lang="fr">basse-cour</i> a scene of strange -confusion.</p> - -<p>Soldiers in horizon-blue were cooking food in their -regimental kitchens for famished women and children, -others were watering horses at the pond; through the -archway at the end we could see yet others hanging -socks and underlinen upon the fence; beyond ran -the canal guarded by its sentinel trees. Wagons filled -the yard, men were shouting and talking, officials -moved busily here and there. We climbed a glorified -ladder to a long, low, straw-strewn loft which was -murkily dark, the windows unglazed, being covered -by coarse matting which flapped in the wind. Here -a number of women were lying or talking in subdued -groups while children scrambled restlessly about, the -squalor and misery being heartrending. They were -leaving immediately, there was nothing to be done, -so, having chatted with a few, we went away, telling -a harassed official that we were at his service if he had -need of us.</p> - -<p>A day or two later this offer had strange fruit, for -a horde of excited people descended upon the Boulevard, -rang at our door, swarmed into the hall and -demanded sabots. Now it happened that a short -time before a case of sabots had been sent to us by the -American Relief Committee (always generous supporters, -supplying many a need)—a case so vast that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> -both wings of our front door had to be opened to -admit it—so we were able to invite the horde to satisfy -its needs. Instantly the hall became a pandemonium. -They flung themselves upon the box, they snatched, -they grabbed, they chattered in high, shrill voices—Meusienne -women of the working-classes generally -talk in a strident scream—they tried on sabots, they -flung sabots back into the box; in short, they behaved -very much as people do behave when their cupidity -is aroused and their nervous systems exhausted by an -almost unendurable strain.</p> - -<p>The commotion, rising in a steady crescendo, had -risen <em>forte</em>, <em>fortissimo</em>, when bo-o-om! thud! bo-o-om! -bombs began to fall on the town. The clamour in -the hall died away, sabots dropped from nerveless -fingers. Bo-o-om! The cellar? <i lang="fr">Où est-ce?</i> Some -one leads the way, and then, while clamour of another -kind seizes the skies, in the icy cellar the mob of half-distraught -creatures fall on their knees and chant the -Rosary.</p> - -<p>As a mist is wiped from a mirror by the passage -over it of a cloth, angers, passions, greeds were wiped -from their eyes, their voices sank to a quiet murmur. -Like children they prayed, and the Holy Spirit brooded -for one brief moment over hearts that yearned to God.</p> - -<p>Then the raid ended, silence fell on the town, but -round the sabot-box, like gulls that scream above a -shoal of fish, rapacity swooped and dived, and its -voice, sea-gull shrill, bit through the air.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span></p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII</a></h2> -</div> -<p class="center">MORE STORM-WRACK</p> - - -<p>A small volume might be written about those days -at the Marché Couvert, about the war gossip that -circulated, the adventures that were related.</p> - -<p>In spite of the terrific shelling of Verdun only one -civilian was reported to have been killed during that -first week, and she imprudently left her cellar. The -bombardment was methodical. Three minutes storm, -then three minutes calm, then three minutes storm -again. Then the pulse-beat lengthened: fifteen minutes -storm, fifteen minutes calm. A priest told Madame B. -that, stop-watch in hand, he was able to visit his people -during the whole of the time, diving in and out of -cellars with a regularity equalled only by that of the -Germans. Two women, on the other hand, ran about -their village <i lang="fr">comme des fous</i> for eight days, shells dropping -four to the minute, but no one was hurt, because -the inhabitants had all gone to their cellars. How -they themselves escaped they did not know. They -had no cellar, that was why they ran.</p> - -<p>Another woman was in her kitchen when a shell -struck the house. Seeing that her sister was badly hurt -she ran out, ran all the way down the village street, -scoured the vicinity looking for a doctor, found one, -brought him back, and as she was about to help him -to dress her sister's wound, realised that her foot was -wet, and looking down saw that her boot was full of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> -blood. Not only had the shell, or a fragment of shell, -torn her thigh badly, but it had shattered her hand as -well. Only the thumb and index finger can be moved a -little now, the other fingers are bent and twisted, -without any power, the arm is shrivelled and cannot be -raised above her head.</p> - -<p>This woman was one of several who were turned out -of the Civil Hospital one bitter afternoon when the wind -cut into our flesh and sharp hail stung our faces. No -doubt the hospital was full, no doubt a large number -of bed or stretcher cases had come in, but somehow -we could find no excuse for the thoughtlessness which -turned that pitiful band of ailing, crippled, or blinded -women into the dark streets to stumble and fumble -their way through a strange town and then face the -horror of the market. Some were frankly idiotic from -fright, strain and age-weakened intellect; all were -terrified, cold and suffering. One, very old, sat on the -ground talking rapidly to herself. "She is détraquée," -they whispered, so she was tucked up on a palliasse, -covered with rugs and left to her mumbling, her -monotonous, wearying babble. Next morning our -nurse, going her rounds, found that the unfortunate -creature was not <i lang="fr">détraquée</i> but delirious, that her -temperature was high and both lungs congested. It -was just a question whether she would survive the -journey to Fains, where, in the Departmental Lunatic -Asylum, some wards had been set aside for the overflow -from the hospital.</p> - -<p>One of our coterie, burning with what we admitted -was justifiable wrath, gave a hard-hearted official from -the Prefecture a Briton's opinion of the matter.</p> - -<p>"It was inhuman to treat these women so. Some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> -of them were wandering in the streets for hours. Why -didn't you send them direct to Fains?"</p> - -<p>"There was no conveyance, the hospital was full ..." -so he excused himself.</p> - -<p>"But they cannot stay here," she thundered. "It -is utterly unfit. They need nursing, comfort, special -care."</p> - -<p>"Oh, well, there is always the Ornain," he replied, -with a gesture towards the river, and the Briton, unable -to determine whether a snub, a sarcasm, or an inhumanity -was intended, for the only time in our -knowledge of her was obliged to leave the field to -France.</p> - -<p>But she was restored to her wonted good-humour -later on by an old lady who undressed placidly in the -new dormitory, peeling off one garment after another -because she "had not taken her clothes off for three -days and three nights," who then knelt placidly by her -bedside and said her prayers, asking, as she tucked -the blankets round her, at what time she would be -called in the morning.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Called!</span> In that Bedlam!</p> - -<p>Most of them were "called" by the big steam whistle -at the factory long before the cocks began to crow. -Zeppelins, tired of inactivity, began to prowl at night. -One, as everybody knows, was brought down in flames -near Révigny—a shred of its envelope lies in my -writing-case, my only <i lang="fr">souvenir de la guerre</i>, unless a -leaflet dropped by a Taube counts as such—causing -great excitement among the boys in the hospital at -Sermaize. No sooner did they hear the guns and the -throb of its engines than with one accord they scrambled -from their beds and rushed to the verandah, where a -wise matron rolled them in blankets and allowed them<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> -to remain to "see the fun," a breach of discipline for -which she was amply rewarded when, seeing the flames -shoot up through the skies, the boys rose to their feet -and shrilled the "Marseillaise" to the night in their -clear, sweet trebles. A dramatic moment that! The -long, low wooden hospital a blur against the moonlit -field, behind and all around the woods, silent, dark, -clustering closely, purple in the half-light of the moon, -the boys' white faces, their shrill cheer, and through -the sky the wide fire of Death falling, to lie a mammoth -dragon on the whitened fields. It is said that there -was a woman in that Zeppelin—some fragments of -clothing, a slipper were found....</p> - -<p>Another, more fortunate, dropped bombs at Révigny -and Contrisson, where by bad luck an ammunition -wagon was hit. One at least of the wagons caught fire, -but was quickly uncoupled by heroic souls who were -subsequently decorated. The first explosion shook -our windows in Bar-le-Duc, and then for two or more -hours we heard report after report as shell after shell -exploded. In the morning wild tales were abroad. -The main line to Paris had been cut, Trèmont (miles -in the other direction) had been bombed, numbers of -civilians had been killed and injured; Révigny was -in even smaller shreds than before; in short, Rumour, -that busy jade, was having a well-occupied morning. -But that is not unusual in the War Zone. She is rarely -idle there. The number of times we were told a -bombardment by long-range guns was signalled for -Bar is incalculable. The town passed from one <i lang="fr">crise -de nerfs</i> to another, some one was always in a panic -over a coming event which did not honour us even -by casting its shadow before.</p> - -<p>The Zeppelins, to be quite frank, were a nuisance.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> -They never reached the town, which has reason to be -grateful for the narrowness of its valley and the protecting -height of its hills, but they made praiseworthy -attempts at all sorts of odd hours, and generally the -most inconvenient that could well be chosen. The -doings at Révigny and Contrisson warned us that a -visit might be fraught with disagreeable results, for -Bar is a concentrated place, it does not straggle, and -when raids occur practically every street is peppered.</p> - -<p>So though we did not go to the cellars, we felt it -incumbent upon us to be ready to do so should necessity -arise, which probably explains why the syren invariably -blew when one or two shivering wretches were sitting -tailor-wise in rubber or canvas basins, fondly persuading -themselves that they were having a bath.</p> - -<p>When there are twenty degrees of frost, when water -freezes where it falls on your uncarpeted bedroom floor, -bathing in a canvas basin has its drawbacks; but if, just -as your precious canful of hot water has been splashed -in and you "mit nodings on" prepare to get as close -to godliness as it is possible for erring mortal to do, the -syren's long, lugubrious note throbs on the air, well, -you float away from godliness fairly rapidly on the -wings of language that would have shocked the most -condemnatory Psalmist of them all. I really believe -those Zeppelins <span class="smcap">KNEW</span> when our bath-water boiled. -We went to bed at ten-thirty or we waited till midnight. -"Let's get the beastly thing over, it is such a -bore dressing again." We dodged in at odd hours of -the evening, it was just the same. Venus was always -surprised. In the end, and when in spite of nightly -and daily warnings, nothing happened, our faith in -French airmen became as the rock that moveth not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> -and is never dismayed. Though syrens hooted and -bugles blew, though the town guard turning out -marched under our windows, the unclothed soaped and -lathered and splashed with unemotional vigour, while -the clothed chastely wondered what would happen if -a bomb struck the house and Venus.... Oh, well, -the French rise magnificently to any situation.</p> - -<p>Once I confess to rage. We had a visitor. We had -all worked hard all day at the market, we had come -home after ten, and, wearied out, had tucked ourselves -into bed, aching in every limb. The visitor and the -smallest member of the coterie returned even later. -Slumber had just sealed my eyelids when a voice -said in my ear, "Miss Day, I'm so sorry, there's a -Zeppelin." Just as though it were sitting on the roof, -you know, preparing to lay an egg.</p> - -<p>"Call me when the bombs begin to fall." Slumber -seized me once more. Again the voice. "I think you -must get up; Visitor says it is not safe."</p> - -<p>"Oh, go to—the Common-room."</p> - -<p>It was no use. I was dragged out. There are -moments when one could cheerfully boil one's fellow-creatures -in a sausage-pot.</p> - -<p>At the market when danger threatened every one -was ruthlessly hunted to the cellar. And French cellars -are the coldest things on earth. Even on the hottest -day in summer they are cool, in the winter they would -freeze a polar bear. Indeed, we were sometimes -tempted to declare that the cellars did more harm than -Zeppelin or Taube.</p> - -<p>Air-raids affect different people differently. One -woman said they—well, she said, "Ça fait sauter (to -jump) l'estomac," which must have been sufficiently<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> -disagreeable; another declared, "Ça fait trop de bile." -Nearly all developed nerve troubles, and Madame -Phillipot—who succeeded Madame Drouet as our -<i lang="fr">femme de ménage</i>, refused to undress at night. In -vain we reasoned with her. She slept armed <i lang="fr">cap-à-pie</i>, -ready for immediate flight, and not until a slight indisposition -gave us a weapon, which we used with -unscrupulous skill and energy, did we wring from her a -promise to go to bed like a respectable Christian. -Madame Albert died trembling in the darkness one -night: an old woman, affected by bronchial trouble, -flying from Death, found him in the icy cellar; many -a case of bronchitis and lung trouble was reported as -an outcome of these nightly raids, children especially -began to suffer, their nerves breaking down, their little -faces becoming pinched, dark shadows lying under -their eyes.</p> - -<p>In the War Zone people don't write letters to the -Press discussing the advisability of taking refuge in a -raid, nor do they talk of "women and children cowering -in cellars." No one suggests that the well-to-do -"should set an example or show the German they are -not afraid." France is too logical for nonsense of that -kind. It knows that soldiers do not sit on the parapet -of a trench when strafing is going on—it would call -them harsh names if they did, and so would we. It -believes in reasonable precautions. After all, the -German object is to kill as many civilians as possible—why -gratify him by running up the casualty rate? -Why occupy ambulances that might be put to better -use? Why occupy the time of doctors and nurses who -are more urgently wanted in the military wards? Why -put your relatives to the expense of a funeral? Why<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> -indeed? Why court suicide for the sake of a stupid -sentiment? Logic echoes why? Logic goes calmly to -its cellar or to that of its neighbour, if it happens to be -out and away from its own when trouble begins. -Logic comes up again and goes serenely about its -business when trouble is over.</p> - -<p>Only the nerve-wrecks, people who have sustained -long bombardment by shell-fire for the most part, -really lose presence of mind. And for them there is -every excuse. Let no one who has not suffered as they -have presume to judge them.</p> - -<p>Once—it was downright wicked, I admit—two of -us, both, be it confessed, wild Irishwomen, with all the -native and national love of a row boiling in our veins, -hearing the syren one evening, somewhere about nine -o'clock, put on our hats and coats, and kilting our -skirts, set off up the hill. We left consternation behind -us, but then we did so want to see a Zeppelin!</p> - -<p>The valley was bathed in soft fitful light. The moon -was almost full, but misty clouds flitted across the sky, -fugitives flying before a wooing wind. Below us the -town lay in darkness. Not a lamp showing. About -us rose the old town, the rue Chavé looming cliff-like -high above our heads. We pressed on, pierced the -shadows of that narrow street and gained the rue des -Grangettes, there to be met with a sight so weird, so -suggestive of tragedy I wish I could have painted it. -From the tall, grim houses men and women had poured -out. Children sat huddled beside them, others slept -in their mother's arms. On the ground lay bags and -bundles. Whispers hissed on the air. It was alive -with sibilant sound. No one talked aloud. They were -as people that watch in an ante-room when Death has<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> -touched one who relinquishes life reluctantly in a room -beyond. In the rue Tribel were more groups. In the -rue des Ducs de Bar still more. We thought the -population of those old ghost-haunted houses must all -have come forth from a shelter in which they no longer -trusted. A Zeppelin bomb, it is said, will crash through -six storeys and break the roof of the cellar beneath. -Here in the street there was no safety. But in the -woods beyond the town, in the woods high on the hill.... -Many and many a poor family spent long night -hours in the cold, the wet and the storm, their little -all gathered in bundles beside them during those intense -months of early spring. We felt—or at least I know -that I felt—as we walked through this world of -whispering shadow, utterly unreal. I ceased to believe -in Zeppelins; earth, material things slid away, -in the cloud-veiled moonlight values became distorted; -I felt like a spectator at a play, but a play where -only shadows act behind a dim, semi-transparent -screen.</p> - -<p>Then we came to the Place Tribel, and the world -enclosed us again. A soldier with a telescope swept -the heavens, others gazed anxiously out over the hills -towards St Mihiel. The night was very still and beautiful; -strange that out there, somewhere in the void, -Death should be riding, coming perhaps near to our -own souls, with his message written already upon -our hearts. In the streets below a bugle call rang out -clear and sweet, the <i lang="fr">Alerte</i>, the danger signal.... We -thought of the hurried wretches making their way to -the woods.... Odd that one should want to see a -Zeppelin!</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span></p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV</a></h2> -</div> -<p class="center">AIR RAIDS</p> - - -<p class="center">I</p> - -<p>Where the grey gas-bags failed, Taubes often succeeded. -At first they came "in single spies," but later -"in battalions." And after one of the early and abortive -raids which did no damage—a mere bagatelle of three -bombs and one soldier with a cut over his eye—posters -of such exquisite import were plastered over the walls -that I must tell you about them.</p> - -<p>They emanated from the Mayor, kind father to his -people, who told us—we thrilled to hear it—"that in -these tragic hours—of war—we had known how to meet -the dangers that menaced us with unfailing calmness -and courage" (I translate literally), and that "our -presence of mind in the face of such sterile manifestations -would always direct our moral force." Very -flattering. We preened feathers quite unjustifiably, -since admittedly the occasion had called for no emotion -save that of a limited, feminine, and quite reasonable -curiosity.</p> - -<p>Then, still glowing, we read on. Mayoral praise is -sweet, but mayoral instructions hard to follow. The -wisest course to pursue when hostile aviators aviate is, -it seems, to take refuge in the nearest house and not to -gaze at the sky—surely that Mayor had never been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> -born of woman!—or, should there be no house, "to -distance oneself rapidly and laterally."</p> - -<p>We ceased to glow. We remembered we were but -dust. Distance oneself laterally? Good, but suppose -one was walking by the Canal? With an impenetrable -hedge on one side, were we to spring to the other? -I have seen the Canal in all its moods. I have never -felt the smallest desire to bathe in it. I have still less -desire to drown—suffocate!—in it. And if one doesn't -know in which direction the bomb is going to fall?... -How be lateral and rapid before it arrives? Suppose -one jumped right under it? Suppose one waits till it -comes? "Too late. Too late; ye cannot <em>distance</em> -now."</p> - -<p>Some one suggests that we ought to practise being -rapid and lateral. "My dear woman, I don't know -what being lateral means." Thus the unenlightened -of the party.</p> - -<p>"Study the habits of that which can be lateral to -all points of the compass at once when you try to catch -it," was the frivolous reply. Well, opportunities were -not wanting. We decided to take lessons. And then -promptly forgot all about Taubes. That is one of the -unintentional blessings incidental to their career. -When they are not showering bombs on you, you eliminate -them from consciousness. Perhaps, in spite of all -the damage they have done, they are still too new, too -unnatural to be accepted. A raid is just an evil nightmare—for -those who suffer no bodily harm. It brings -you as a nightmare does to the very edge of some -desperate enterprise; you feel the cold, awful fear; you -are held in the grip of some deadly unimagined thing -that holds you, forces you down, something you cannot<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> -see, something you do not understand, but that you -know is hideous, terrible in its happening. The noise -breaks on your brain, the noise that is only the symptom -of the ill.... Then silence shuts down ... and you -awake....</p> - -<p>Once, at least for us, the awakening was a tragic -one. Ascension Day. A clear, warm summer sky, -windless, perfect. Dinner just over in the town. -Shops opening again. Life stirring in the streets. -An ideal moment for those who are quick to take -advantage of such. There was no signal to warn us of -what was coming, no time for pedestrians to distance -themselves laterally or otherwise. Death found them -as they walked through the streets, or gossiped in the -station yard. The Place de la Gare became a shambles. -Women—why dilate on the horror? Forty people -were killed outright, over a hundred were wounded, -and of these many subsequently died. In our cellar -we listened to the storm, then when it was over we went -through the town seeking out our people, anxious to -help. We saw horses, mangled and bleeding, lying on -the quay-side, a tree riven near the Pont Nôtre Dame, -blood flowing in the gutters, telegraph wires lying in -grotesque loops and coils on the roadway or hanging -in festoons from the façades of houses. (An underground -wire was laid down after this.) Glass—we -walked on a carpet of glass, and in the houses we saw -things that "God nor man ever should look upon."</p> - -<p>Saw too, then and in subsequent raids, how Death, -if he has marked you for his own, will claim you even -though you hide, even though you seek the "safe" -shelter you trust in so implicitly, but which plays the -traitor and opens the gate to the Enemy who knocks.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> -Madame Albert; the old sick woman. Now the eldest -Savard girl, a tall, graceful, handsome creature, just -twenty years of age. With a number of others including -her mother, younger sister, and several soldiers -(oh, yes, soldiers "cower" too, and are not always the -last to dive to shelter), she fled to the nearest cellar -when the raid began, but the entrance was not properly -closed, and when a bomb burst in the yard outside, -splinters killed five of the soldiers, and wounded her so -cruelly she died that night.</p> - -<p>Then there was Madame Bertrand, pursued by a -malignant spirit of evil. Twice a refugee, she came to -Bar in February, drifting from the market to the Maison -Blanpain, where within six weeks of her arrival two -of her three children had died. (Her husband was a -soldier, of course.) One contracted diphtheria, the -other was struck down by some virulent and never-diagnosed -complaint which lasted just twenty-four -hours. Expecting shortly to become a mother again, -Madame was standing at her house door that sunny -June day when a bomb fell in the street. She was -killed instantly.</p> - -<p>A fortnight later the little boy who brought parcels -from the <i lang="fr">épicerie</i> died. He, like Mademoiselle Savard, -was in a cellar, but a fragment of shell came through -the tiny <i lang="fr">soupirail</i> (ventilation grating)....</p> - - -<p class="center">II</p> - -<p>In June, the town looked as if it were preparing -for a siege. The stage direction, "Excursions and -alarums," was interpolated extravagantly over all the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> -drama of our life. If we had been rabbits we might -have enjoyed it, there being something slightly facetious, -not to say hilarious, in the flirt of the white bob as it -scurries to cover, but as actors in the said drama we -soon ceased to find it amusing. It interfered so confoundedly -with our work! Worst of all, it unsettled -our people.</p> - -<p>The sang-froid of some of the shopkeepers, however, -was magnificent. They simply put their shutters up, -pinned a label on the door and went south or west, -to wait till the <i lang="fr">rafale</i> blew over. Before going, Monsieur -was always at pains to inform us that he, for his part, -was indifferent, but Madame, alas, Madame! Nerves.... -An eloquent shrug that in no way dimmed the -brilliance of Madame's smile as she gazed at us from -behind his unconscious back. We, for our part, -blushed for our sex. Then he asked us if we, too, had -not fear? Saying no, we felt unaccountably bombastic. -We read braggart in his eye, we scarcely dared to hope -he would not read <i lang="fr">froussard</i> in ours. Politely he hoped -that when he returned our valuable custom would -again be his? Reassured, he stretched a more or less -grimy hand over the counter, we laid ours upon it, -suspicions vanished! With the word <i lang="fr">devouée</i> gleaming -like a halo round our unworthy heads, we stepped -again into the street, there to admire a vista of shutters.</p> - -<p>(It may be of interest to psychologists that shopkeepers -without wives, and shopkeepers without -husbands, generally elected to remain in the town. -They kept, however, their shutters down. Monsieur X., -running out to close his during a raid, was blown to -atoms. One learns wisdom—by experience—in the -War Zone.)</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span></p> - -<p>Stepped out to admire, too, a fantastic collection of -boxes and bags ranged close against the walls at -irregular intervals. Since the affair of the <i lang="fr">soupirail</i> -gratings were no longer left unguarded. Tiny though -they were, almost unnoticeable specks just where the -house wall touched the pavement, they could be dangerous. -Consequently, bags of sand, boxes of sand, and -big rockery stones were propped against them to be a -snare to the unwary at night, and, as the hot summer -sped by, to testify (as our shy member cogently remarked) -to the visiting proclivities of the dogs of the -town. The bags burst, they added to that composite -Ess Bouquet that rose so penetratingly in warm -weather, but the sand and the stones remained. In -the winter, snow buried them. Then the snow froze. -Coming round the corner of the Rue Lapique one dark -Laplandish night, I trod on the edge of a heap of -frozen snow.... There are six hundred and seventy-three -ways of falling on frozen snow, and I practised -most of them that winter, but, as an accomplishment, -am bound to admit that they seem to be devoid of -any artistic merit whatever.</p> - -<p>Following the sandbags came <i lang="fr">affiches</i>. Every -cellared house—and nearly every house had its cellar—blazed -the information abroad. "Cave voutée" -(vaulted cellar), 20 <i lang="fr">personnes</i>, 50 <i lang="fr">personnes</i>, 200 <i lang="fr">personnes</i>, -even 500 <i lang="fr">personnes</i>, indicated shelter in an -emergency. In a raid every man's cellar is his neighbour's. -Once we harboured some refugees, and that -night at dinner the shy member (perhaps I ought to -say that the adjective was entirely self-bestowed), -gurgled suddenly. We looked at her expectantly.</p> - -<p>"I was only thinking that Miss —— (No. I shall<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> -not betray her!) is not supposed to smoke when the -refugees are about, but in the middle of the raid she -came swanking down to the cellar to-day with a -cigarette in her mouth."</p> - -<p>As one not unremotely connected with the incident -I take leave to disqualify "swank." Professional -smokers never swank, it is the attribute of the mere -amateur.</p> - -<p>So many precautions were taken, it would seem that -any one who got hurt during a raid had only himself -to blame, and for those who may think warnings -superfluous, I may add that never again was the -casualty list as high as on that unwarned Ascension -Day. Indeed, in subsequent raids—while I was in -Bar, at least—it decreased in the most arresting manner. -True, the day and night were rendered hideous with -noise. To the <i lang="fr">sirène</i> was added the steam-whistle at the -gas-works, but these being deemed insufficient, a -loud tocsin clanged from the old Horloge on the hill. -I have known people to sleep through them all, but -their names will never be divulged by so discreet a -historian.</p> - -<p>Though the danger was lessened, the nerve-strain -unfortunately remained. Mothers with children found -life intolerable. It was bad enough to spend one's -days like a Jack-in-the-box jumping in and out of the -cellar, but infinitely worse to spend the night doing it. -Flight was—I was going to say in the air! It was at -least on many lips. People were poised, as it were, -hesitant, unwilling to haul up anchor, afraid to face -out upon the unknown sea, yet still more afraid to -remain. Then, as I have told you, eight warnings and -two raids in twenty-four hours robbed over-taxed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> -nerves of their last ounce of endurance. The Prefecture -was besieged, and in one day alone three hundred -people left the town. Those who had friends or -relatives in other districts were, as is usual in all such -cases, allowed to join them, others were herded like -sheep, and like sheep were driven where shepherd and -sheep-dog willed. Nearly all the Basket-makers fled. -The Maison Blanpain turned its unsavoury contents -out of doors. Many of our fastest and firmest friends -came to say good-bye with tears in their eyes; it was -a heartrending time, and one which, if continued, would -have seen an end to all our labour. This fear was -happily not realised, for as fast as one lot of refugees -went away another lot drifted in, and the following -winter was the busiest we were to know.</p> - -<p>To all who came to say good-bye, clothes were given, -and especially boots, America having come again to -our rescue with some consignments which, if they added -to our grey hairs—I would "rather be a dog and bay -the moon" than assistant in a boot-shop—added in -far larger measure to the contentment and happiness -of the fugitives.</p> - -<p>Boots were, and no doubt still are, almost unobtainable -luxuries, for those who try to make both ends of -an <em>allocation</em> meet. As a garment, it may be said that -the allocation (I change my metaphor, you notice) just -falls below the waist-line, it never reaches down to the -feet. How could it when even a child's pair of shoes cost -as much as twelve francs? and are <i lang="fr">du papier</i> at that.</p> - -<p>Our boot-shop was a dark, damp, refrigerating closet -at the end of the hall where boots of all sizes were of -necessity piled, or slung over lines that stretched -across the room. What you needed was never on a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> -line. But the line's adornments beat you about the -head as you stooped to burrow in the heaps underneath.</p> - -<p>To add to your enjoyment of the situation, you -were aware that the difference between French feet -and American feet is as wide as the Atlantic that -rolls between.</p> - -<p>Nevertheless, those that came were shod. I personally -can take no credit for it. My plunges into the -refrigerator only served as a rule to send the temperature -up! The miracles of compression and expansion -were performed by the Directrice of the establishment, -who will, I hope, forgive me if I say that I deplore an -excellent sportswoman lost in her. She had the divine -instinct of the chase, and when she ran her quarry to -earth her eyes bubbled. At other times, she tried to -hide the softest heart that ever betrayed a woman under -a grim exterior, that only deceived those who saw no -further than her protecting pince-nez.</p> - - -<p class="center">III</p> - -<p>Yes, they were going. Old friends of over a year's -standing, many of whom we had visited again and again, -and of whom we shall carry glad memories till the final -exodus of all carries us beyond the Eternal Shadows. -Madame Drouet, our <i lang="fr">femme de ménage</i>, was wavering; -pressure, steadily applied, was slowly driving her to the -thing she dreaded and disliked. Then, as you know, -the blow fell.</p> - -<p>She was gone, and we gazed at one another in consternation. -Where would we find such another? -Hastily we ran over a list of names, and then, Eureka!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> -we had it. Madame Phillipot, of course. On with our -hats, and hot foot at top speed to the rue de Véel. -An agitated half-hour—Madame was diffident, she -was no cook, she could never please Les Anglaises—a -triumphant return, all her scruples overruled, and the -inauguration of a reign of peace and plenty such as we -shall not see again. There is only one Madame Phillipot -in this grey old world. Only one, and we loved her. -Loved her? Why, we could not help it! Picture a -little robin-redbreast of a woman, short and plump, -with pretty dark eyes and clear skin, and the chirpiest -voice that ever made music on a summer day. I can -hear her now lilting her "Bon Soir, Mesdemoiselles," -as she came to bid us good-night. The little ceremony -was never forgotten, nor was the morning greeting. -She rarely talked, she chirped, and she chirped the -long day through. The coming of every new face was -an adventure. No longer did the uninterested "C'est -une dame," hurl us from our peace. No. In five -minutes, in five seconds Madame, interviewing the -new-comer, had grasped all the salient points of her -history, and we went forth armed, ready to smite or -succour as occasion demanded. And dearly she loved -her bit of gossip. What greetings the old stone staircase -witnessed! What ah's and oh's of delight! -We would hear the voluble tide rising, rising, and groan -over rooms undusted, and beds blushing naked at -midday. But it was impossible to be angry with -Madame. The work was done sooner or later, generally -later, and when we sat down to her <i lang="fr">ragoût</i>, or her -<i lang="fr">bœuf mode</i>, or her <i lang="fr">blanquette de veau</i> in the evening -her sins put on the wings of virtue and fluttered, silver -plumed, to heaven.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span></p> - -<p>Now, I am a mild woman, but there are hours in -which I yearn to murder M. Phillipot, and Pappa, -and Mademoiselle Clémence, for they hold Madame to -the soil of France. If she was a widowed orphan, -perhaps we might console our lonely old age together, -but no one could be really lonely when Madame was by. -Is one lonely in woods when birds are singing?</p> - -<p>It was the ambition of her life to be a milliner, but -Pappa—you shall hear about him presently—said No. -So she married M. Phillipot instead, and became the -wife of a <i lang="fr">commis-voyageur</i> who did not deserve to get -her. For he had as mother an old harridan who -insisted on living with him, and who, bitterly jealous of -Madame, made her life a burden to her. The <i lang="fr">commis-voyageur</i> -having a soul like his bag of samples, all bits -and scraps, always sided with his mother.</p> - -<p>Once Madame asked me to guess her age. I hazarded -thirty-eight quite honestly, and she flushed like a -girl. "Ah, mais non. She was older than that. She -was...." (I shan't "give her away." Am not -I, too, a woman?)</p> - -<p>"You don't look it, Madame," I answered truthfully.</p> - -<p>"Ah, but if only Mademoiselle had seen me before -the war. When I was dressed in my pretty Sunday -clothes. Ah, que j'étais belle! And fresh and young. -One would have given me thirty."</p> - -<p>Her speech was the most picturesque thing, a source -of unfailing delight. Once in that awful frost, when -for six weeks there was ice on the bedroom floor and a -phylactery of ice adorned my sponge-bag, when the -moisture that exuded from the walls became <i lang="fr">crystallisé</i>, -and neither blankets, nor fur coat, nor hot water -bottle kept one warm at night, Madame, seeing me<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> -huddle a miserable half-dead thing over the stove, cried, -"It is under a <i lang="fr">cloche</i> we should put you, Mademoiselle -Day." And the three villains who shared my misery -with ten times my fortitude chuckled with delight. -My five-foot seven and ample proportions being -"forced" like a salad under the bell-glass of intensive -culture! No wonder we laughed. But I longed for -the <i lang="fr">cloche</i> all the same.</p> - -<p>As for her good humour it was indestructible. When -people came, as people inconsiderately will come, -from other work-centres demanding food at impossible -hours, Madame sympathised with the agonies of the -housekeeper and evolved meals out of nothingness, -out of a leek and a lump of butter, or out of three sticks -of macaroni, one <i lang="fr">gousse d'ail</i> and a pinch of salt. -The clove of garlic went into every pot—was it that -which made her dishes so savoury? When the gas was -shut off at five o'clock just as dinner was under way, -she didn't tear her hair and blaspheme her gods; she -cooked. Don't ask me how she did it. I can only -state the fact. On two gas-rings, with a tiny hot-plate -in between, she cooked a soup, a meat dish, two -vegetables and a pudding every night, and served them -all piping hot whether the gas "marched" or whether -it did not.</p> - -<p>If we wanted to send her into the seventh heaven we -gave her a "commission" in the town, or asked her -to trim a hat. We would meet her trotting up the -Boulevard, her basket on her arm, her smile irradiating -the greyest day, and know that when she returned -every rumour—and Bar seethed with rumours—every -scrap of gossip—it was a hotbed of gossip—on the wing -that day would be ours for the asking. She never held<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> -herself aloof as Madame Drouet did. She became one -of the household, and it would have done your heart -good to see her on Sunday morning trotting (she always -trotted) first from one room and then to another with -trays of coffee and rolls, keeping us like naughty children -in bed, ostensibly because we must be tired, we -worked so hard (O Madame! Madame!), but actually -we believed to keep us out of the way while she -scuttled through her work in time for Mass.</p> - -<p>Her dusting was even sketchier than Madame -Drouet's, and when she washed out a room she always -left one corner dry, but whether in pursuance of a -sacred rite or as a concession to temperament, I cannot -say.</p> - -<p>Meantime she lived in one room in the rue de Véel, -sharing it with her father and Mademoiselle Clémence. -M. Phillipot, his existence once acknowledged, faded -more and more surely from our ken. He was not in -Bar-le-Duc, he was in a misty, nebulous somewhere -with his virago of a mother. We felt that wherever -he was he deserved it, and speedily put him out of our -existence. But he occurred later. Husbands do, it -seems, in France.</p> - -<p>Frankly, I believe that Madame forgot him too. -She never spoke of him, and she was devoted to M. -Godard and Clémence, who are of the stock and breeding -that keep one's faith in humanity alive. Monsieur -was a carpenter, an old retainer of the château near -his home. A well-to-do man, we gathered, of some -education and magnificent spirit. When the Germans -captured his village they seized him, buffeted him -and threatened to shoot him. Well, he just defied them. -Flung back his old head and dared them to do their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> -worst. Even when he was kneeling in the village square -waiting the order to fire he defied them. He told -me the story more than once, but the details escaped -me. Heaven having deprived him of teeth, he had a -quaint trick of substituting nails, with his mouth -full of which he waxed eloquent. Now, toothless -French causes the foreigner to pour ashes on her -head and squirm in the very dust, but French garnished -with "des points" ...!</p> - -<p>Of course I ought to have mastered it, as opportunities -were not lacking, but Monsieur, who worked -regularly for us, was unhappily slightly deaf. So what -with the difficulty of making him understand me, and -the difficulty of making me understand him, our -intimacy, though at all times of the most affectionate -nature, rested rather on goodwill than on soul to soul -intercourse.</p> - -<p>A scheme for providing the refugees with chests in -which to keep their scanty belongings having been -set afoot, Monsieur was established in the wood-shed -with planes, hammer and nails, and there he became a -fixture. We simply could not get on without him. -We flew to him in every crisis, flying back occasionally -in laughter and indignation, with the storm of his -disapproval still whistling in our ears. He could be -as obstinate as a mule, and oh, how he could chasten -us for our good! In the intervals he made chests out -of packing-cases, which he adorned with hinges and a -loop for a padlock, while we painted the owner's -initials in heavy lettering on the top. So highly -were they prized and sought after, our stock of packing-cases -ran out, and those who wanted them had to bring -their own. It was then that Monsieur's gift of invec<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span>tive -showed itself in all its razor-like keenness. For, -grievous to relate, there are people in the world who -presume upon generosity—mean people who will not -play the game. Every packing-case in process of -transformation made serious inroads on Monsieur's -time, and upon the small supply of wood at his disposal, -so their cost was not small. But if you had -seen some of the boxes brought to our door!</p> - -<p>"That?" Monsieur wagged a contemptuous finger -at the overgrown match-box one despicable creature -planted under his enraged eyes. "That? A chest to -hold linen? Take it away. It will do to carry your -prayer book in when you go to Mass."</p> - -<p>Or, "It is a chest that you want me to make out -of that? That? Look at it. C'est du papier à -cigarette. Your husband can roll his tobacco in it."</p> - -<p>We chuckled as we blessed him. No doubt we -were often imposed upon, and Monsieur had an eye -like a needle for the impostor.</p> - -<p>In process of manufacture, marks of ownership -sometimes became erased, and then there was woe in -Israel.</p> - -<p>"That my caisse? Mais je vous assure Mademoiselle -the caisse that I brought was large, grande comme -ça"—a gesture suggested a mausoleum. "Yes, and I -wrote my name on it with the pencil of Monsieur, -there, dans le couloir. He saw me write it, Vannier-Lefeuvre. -Monsieur will testify."</p> - -<p>We gazed at Monsieur. "Vannier-Lefeuvre? Bon. -Regardez la liste. C'est le numero twenty-two."</p> - -<p>"But there is NO number twenty-two, Monsieur."</p> - -<p>"Eh bien, il faut chercher."</p> - -<p>This to a demented philanthropist who had already<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> -wasted a good hour in the search. (The hall was piled -ceiling high with the wretched cases, you know.) -Madame Vannier-Lefeuvre lifted up a strident voice -and sang in minor key a dirge in memory of the lost -treasure. Its size, its beauty, its strength, the twenty-five -sous she had paid for it at the <i lang="fr">épicerie</i>.... No, -it was not that, nor that. We dragged out the best, -even some special treasures bigger and better than -anything she could have produced. All in vain. -"Monsieur." We appealed to Cæsar.</p> - -<p>Boom, bang, boom. With his mouth full of nails, -humming a stifled song, Cæsar drove a huge nail into -the case of Madame Poiret-Blanc. Five minutes later -Madame Lefeuvre-Vannier—"or Vannier-Lefeuvre ça -ne fait rien," marched off with our finest <i lang="fr">caisse</i> on her -<i lang="fr">brouette</i>, woe on her wily old face and devilish glee in -her heart. And we, turning to pulverise Monsieur, -whose business it was to mark every case in order to -prevent confusion, found ourselves dumb. We might -rage in the Common-room, but in the wood-shed we -were as lambs that baa'ed.</p> - -<p>And we forgave him all his sins the day he, with a -look of ineffable dignity just sufficiently tinged with -contempt, brushed aside a huge gendarme at the -station. Some one was going away, and Monsieur -had wheeled her luggage over on the <i lang="fr">brouette</i>.</p> - -<p>"It is forbidden to go on the platform." Thus the -arm of military law, an <i lang="fr">Avis</i> threatening pains and -penalties hanging over his head.</p> - -<p>"Forbidden? Do you not know that I am the valet -de ces dames?"</p> - -<p>Have you ever seen a gendarme crumple?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="center">IV</p> - -<p>Twenty degrees, twenty-two degrees, twenty-five -degrees of frost. A clear blue sky, brilliant sunshine, -a snow-bound world.</p> - -<p>"Pas chaud," people would declare as they came -shivering into our room. Not hot! Are the French -never positive? I think only when it rains, and then -they do commit themselves to a "quel vilain temps."</p> - -<p>The ice on the windows, even at the sunny side of -the house, refused to thaw; the water pipes froze. Not -a drop of water in the house, everything solid. Madame -put a little coke stove under the tap, and King Frost -laughed aloud. The tap thawed languidly, then froze -again, and remained frozen. A week, two, three weeks -went by. Happily there was water in the cellar.</p> - -<p>It was <i lang="fr">ennuyant</i>, certainly, to be obliged to fetch all -the water in pails across the small garden, through the -hall and up the stairs, but Madame endured it, as she -endured the chilblains that tortured her feet, and the -nipping cold of her kitchen. Even the frost could -not harden her bubbling good humour.</p> - -<p>King Frost gripped the world in firmer fingers, the -sun grew more brilliant, the sky more blue. The Canal -froze, the lock gates were ice palaces, the streets and -roads invitations to death or permanent disablement. -Still Madame endured. A morning came when the -cold stripped the flesh from our bones, and we shook as -with an ague. The Common-room door opened, -desolation was upon us. Madame staggered in, fell -upon a chair and, lifting up her voice, wept aloud. -She was <i lang="fr">désolée</i>. For two hours she had laboured in -the cellar, she had lighted the <i lang="fr">réchaud</i> (the little stove),<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> -she had poured boiling water over the tap, she had -prayed, she had invoked the Saints and Pappa, but -the water would not come. <i lang="fr">Pas une goutte!</i> And -every pipe in the Quartier was frozen, there was no -water left in all the ice-bound world.</p> - -<p>Madame in tears! Madame in a <i lang="fr">crise de nerfs</i>! -She who had coped with disasters that left us gibbering -imbeciles, and had laughed her way through vicissitudes -that reduced me, at least, to the intelligent level -of a nerveless jelly-fish! We nearly had a <i lang="fr">crise de -nerfs</i> ourselves, but happily some hot tea was forthcoming, -hot tea which in France is not a beverage, but -an <i lang="fr">infusion</i>—like <i lang="fr">tilleul</i>, you know—and with that -we pulled ourselves together. We also resuscitated -Madame, whose long vigil in the cellar had frozen her -as nearly solid as the pipes. Later on, she complained -of feeling ill, <i lang="fr">un peu souffrante</i>. Asked to describe her -symptoms, she said she had "l'estomac embarrassé." -Before so mysterious a disease we wilted. But the loan -of a huge <i lang="fr">marmite</i> from the Canteen restored her; there -was water in the deep well in the Park, Pappa would -take the <i lang="fr">marmite</i> on the <i lang="fr">brouette</i> and bring back supplies -for the house. He brought them. As the <i lang="fr">marmite</i> -made its heavy way up the stairs, some one asked where -the queer smell came from.</p> - -<p>"That? It is from the water," he replied simply.</p> - -<p>Sanitary authorities, take note. We survived it. -And we kept ourselves as clean as we could. When -we couldn't we consoled ourselves by remembering -that the washed are less warm than the unwashed. -M. l'Abbé told me that he dropped baths out of his -scheme of things while the frost lasted. Were we not -afraid to bathe? We confessed to a reasonable fear<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> -of being found one morning sitting in my square of -green canvas, a pillar like Lot's wife, but of ice, not -salt. He brooded on the picture I called up, I slid -like a bag of coal down the hill.</p> - -<p>Having administered comfort to "l'estomac embarrassé," -we rationed our supply of water, we prayed for -a thaw, Madame began to chirp again, the world was -not altogether given over to the devil. But peace -had forsaken our borders. Going into the kitchen one -morning I found Madame in tears. M. Phillipot had -occurred. The deluge was upon us.</p> - -<p>Wearying of life in the South, he had come back to -Révigny, his mother, of course, as always, upon his -arm, and there, possessed of a thousand devils, he had -bought a wooden house, and there his mother, with -all the maddening malice of a perverse, inconsiderate -animal, had been seized with an illness and was -preparing to die.</p> - -<p>And she had sent for Madame. No wonder the -heavens fell.</p> - -<p>"All my life she has ill-treated me," the poor little -woman sobbed, "and now when I am si heureuse avec -vous, when I earn good money, she sends for me. -Quel malheur! What cruelty! You do not know -what a rude enfer (hell) I have suffered with that -woman. And chez nous, one was so happy. With -Pappa and Clémence all was so peaceful, never a cross -word, never a temper. Ah, what sufferings! Did -not the contemplation of them turn Clémence from -marriage for ever? Because of my so grande misère -never would she marry. La belle-mère, she hated me. -It was that she was jealous. But now when she is ill -she sends for me. But I will not go. No, I will not."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span></p> - -<p>"But, Madame, if she is ill? We could manage for -a few days." She was riven with emotion, then the -storm passed. Again we reasoned with her. She must -go. After all, if the old woman was dying....</p> - -<p>Madame did not believe in the possible dissolution -of anything so entirely undesirable as her <i lang="fr">belle-mère</i>, -but in the end humanity prevailed. She would go, -but for one night. She would come back early on the -morrow.</p> - -<p>"Ah, Mademoiselle, c'est un vrai voyage de sacrifice -that I make." She put on her Sunday clothes, she -took Clémence with her, she came back that night. -Two days later a letter, then a telegram urged her -forth again. We had almost to turn her out of the -house. Was not one voyage of sacrifice enough in a -lifetime of sorrow? And the <i lang="fr">belle-mère</i> would not -die. She, Madame, knew it. Protesting, weeping, -she set out, to come back annoyed, sobered, enraged, -<i lang="fr">bouleversée</i>. <i lang="fr">La belle-mère</i> had died. What else could -one expect from such an ingrate?</p> - -<p>And now there was M. Phillipot all alone in the -<i lang="fr">maudite petite maison</i> at Révigny. "Is it that he can -live alone? Pensez donc, Mademoiselle! I, moi qui -vous parle, must give up my good place with my -friends whom I love, to whom I have accustomed -myself, and live in that desert of a Révigny. Is it -that I shall earn good money there? Monsieur? -Il ne gagne rien, mais rien du tout. Pas ça." She -clicked a nail against a front tooth and shot an -expressive finger into the air.</p> - -<p>"Then he must come to Bar-le-Duc."</p> - -<p>But—ah, if Mademoiselle only knew what she suffered—Monsieur -was possessed of goats—deux chèvres,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> -that he loved. They had followed him in all his -journeyings; when they were tired the soldiers gave -them rides in the <i lang="fr">camions</i>. To the South they had -gone with him, back to Révigny they had come with -him. To part with them would be death. You do -not know how he loves them. But could one keep -goats in the rue de Véel?</p> - -<p>One could certainly not. We looked at Madame. -Physical force might get her to Révigny, no other -power could. Assuredly we who knew her value could -not persuade her. The <i lang="fr">impasse</i> seemed insurmountable. -Then light broke over it, showing the way. -If Monsieur wanted his wife he must abandon his -goats. It was a choice. Let him make it. <i lang="fr">Rien -de plus simple.</i></p> - -<p>He chose the goats.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span></p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV</a></h2> -</div> -<p class="center">M. LE POILU</p> - - -<p class="center">I</p> - -<p>If you had ventured into Bar-le-Duc during the -stormy days of 1916, when the waves of the German -ocean beat in vain against the gates of Verdun, you -might have thought that the entire French army was -quartered there. Soldiers were everywhere. The -station-yard was a wilderness of soldiers. In faded -horizon-blue, muddy, inconceivably dirty, with that -air of <i lang="fr">je ne sais quoi de fagoté</i> which distinguishes them, -they simply took possession of the town. The <i lang="fr">pâtisseries</i> -were packed—how they love cakes, <i lang="fr">choux-à-la-crême</i>, -<i lang="fr">brioches</i>, <i lang="fr">madeleines</i>, tarts!—the Magasins -Réunis was a tin in which all the sardines were blue -and all had been galvanised into life; fruit-shops belched -forth clouds that met, mingled and strove with clouds -that sought to envelop the vacated space; in the -groceries we, who were women and mere civilians at -that, stood as suppliants, "with bated breath and -whispering humbleness," and generally stood in vain. -But for Madame I verily believe we would have starved. -Orderlies from officers' messes away up on the Front -drove, rode or trained down with lists as long as the -mileage they covered, lists that embraced every human -need, from flagons of costly scent to tins of herrings<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> -or <i lang="fr">pâté-de-foie-gras</i>, or <i lang="fr">Petit Beurre</i>, <i lang="fr">Lulu</i> (the most -insinuating <i lang="fr">Petit Beurre</i> in the world), from pencils -and notepaper to soap, from asparagus and chickens—twelve -francs each and as large as a fair-sized snipe—to -dried prunes and hair-oil. We even heard of one -<i lang="fr">popotte</i> which pooled resources and paid twenty-five -francs for a lobster, but perhaps that tale was merely -offered as a tax upon our credulity.</p> - -<p>Bar-le-Duc was delirious. Never had it known such -a reaping, never had it heard of such prices. It rose -dizzily to an occasion which would have been sublime -but for the inhumanity of the <i lang="fr">Petite Vitesse</i> which, -lacking true appreciation of the situation, sat down -upon its wheels and ceased to run.</p> - -<p>Not that the <i lang="fr">Petite Vitesse</i> was really to blame. It -yearned to indulge in itinerant action, but there was -Verdun, with its gargantuan mouths wide open, all -waiting to be fed, and all clamouring for men, munitions -and <i lang="fr">ravitaillement</i> of every kind. In those days -all roads led to Verdun—all except one, and that the -Germans were hysterically treading.</p> - -<p>However, we wasted no sympathy on the shopkeepers. -Their complete indifference to our needs -drove every melting tenderness from our hearts, or, -to be quite accurate, drove it in another direction—that -of the poor <i lang="fr">poilu</i> who had no list and no fat -wallet bulging with hundred-franc notes. And I think -he richly deserved all the sympathy we could give him. -Think of the streets as I have described them when -talking of the Marché Couvert, call to mind every -discomfort that weather can impose, add to them, -multiply them exceedingly, and then extend them -beyond the farthest bounds of reason, and you have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> -Bar in the spring of 1916. Cold, wet, snow, sleet, -slush, wind, mud, rain—interminable rain—did their -worst with us, and in them all and under most soldiers -lived in the streets. The <i lang="fr">débitants</i> and café-restaurants -were closed during a great part of the day, there -was literally nowhere for them to go. They huddled -like flocks of draggled birds in the station-yard, some -in groups, some in serried mass before the barrier, -some stamping up and down, some sitting on the kerb -or on the low stone parapet from which the railings -spring, and while some, pillowing their heads on their -kits, went exhaustedly to sleep, others crouched with -their backs against the wall. They ate their bread, -opened their tins of <i lang="fr">conserve</i>—generally potted meat -or sardines—sliced their cheese with a pocket-knife, -or absorbed needed comfort from bottles which, for -all their original dedication, were rarely destined to -hold water! On the Canal bank they sat or lay in the -snow, on ground holding the seeds of a dozen chilly -diseases in its breast; on the river banks they sprang -up like weeds, on the Boulevard every seat had its -quota, and we have known them to have it for the -night. In all the town there was not a canteen or a -<i lang="fr">foyer</i>, not a hut nor a camp, not a place of amusement -(except a spasmodic cinema), not a room set apart for -their service. They might have been Ishmaels; they -must have been profoundly uncomfortable.</p> - -<p>Yet no one seemed to realise it. That was the outstanding -explosive feature of the case. Late in the -spring, towards the end of April or in May, buffets -were opened in the station-yard under the ægis of the -Croix Rouge. At one of these ham, sardines, bread, -post cards, tobacco, chocolate, cakes, matches, <i lang="fr">pâté</i>,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> -cheese, etc., could be bought; at the other wine, and -possibly beer. The space between was not even roofed -over, and, their small purchases made, the men had to -consume them—when eatable—in the open. But of -real solicitude, in the British sense of the word, for -their comfort there was none.</p> - -<p>France has shown herself mighty in many ways -during the war, but—with the utmost diffidence I -suggest it—not in her care for the men who are waging -it. Our Tommies, with their Y.M.C.A. huts and Church -Army and Salvation huts, with their hot baths, their -sing-songs in every rest-camp, their clouds of ministering -angels, their constellations of adoring satellites -waiting on them hand and foot, are pampered minions -compared with the French soldier. For him there is -neither Y.M.C.A., Church Army nor Salvation Army. -He comes, some three thousand of him, <i lang="fr">en repos</i> to a -tiny village, such as Fains or Saudrupt, Trémont or -Bazincourt, he is crowded into barns, granges, stables -and lofts, he is route-marched by day, he is neglected -by evening. No one worries about him. Amusement, -distraction there is none. No club-room where he -may foregather comfortably, no cheery canteen with -billiards and games, no shops in which if he has money -he can spend it. Blank, cheerless, uncared-for nothingness. -He gets into mischief—what can you expect? -He goes back to the trenches, and shamed eyes are -averted and hearts weighed with care hide behind -bravado as he goes.</p> - -<p>Sometimes you hear, "The men are so weary and so -dispirited they do no harm." They are like dream -people, moving through a world of shadows. Those -who go down into hell do not come back easily to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> -things of earth. Sometimes you hear tales that make -you wince. The pity of it! And sometimes you meet -young girls who, tempted beyond their strength, are -paying the price of a sin whose responsibility should -rest on other shoulders.</p> - -<p>"My friend the Aumonier at F—— does not know -what to do with his men," said the Abbé B. to me one -day. "They are utterly discouraged, he cannot rouse -them; they vow they will not go back to the trenches." -And then he talked of agitators who tried to stir up -disaffection in the ranks, Socialist leaders and the like. -(France has her Bolos to meet even in the humblest -places.) But I could not help thinking that the good -Aumonier's task would have been a lighter one had -plenty of wholesome recreation been provided for his -men in that super-stupid, dull and uninteresting village -of F——.<a name="FNanchor_11_11" id="FNanchor_11_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_11_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a></p> - -<p>The migratory soldier going to or from leave, or -changing from one part of the Front to another, might, -as we have seen, wait hours at a junction, cold and -friendless, without where to lay his head. And just -why it was not particularly easy to discover. We -divined a psychological problem, we never really -resolved it.</p> - -<p>Does logic, carried to its ultimate conclusion, leave -humanity limping behind it on the road?</p> - -<p>Or are the French the victims of their own history? -Did not the Revolution sow the seeds of deep distrust -between aristocracy and bourgeoisie and, more than<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> -that, sow an even deeper distrust between bourgeois -and bourgeois? During the Reign of Terror the man -who dined with you to-night all too often betrayed -you on the morrow, neighbour feared neighbour, and -with terrible justification, the home became a fortress -round which ran a moat of silence and reserve, the -family circle became the family horizon, people learned -to live to themselves, to mind their own business and -let the devil or who would mind that of their neighbours.</p> - -<p>When England was blossoming in a springtime of -altruism, when great-minded men and women were -learning that the burden of the poor, the sick, the -suffering was their burden to be shouldered and carried -and passed from hand to hand, France was still maimed -and battered by blows from which she has scarcely -yet recovered.</p> - -<p>Even to-day French women tell me of the isolation -of their upbringing. "Our father discouraged intercourse -with the families about us."</p> - -<p>But that narrow individualism—or, more properly, -tribalism—is, I think, dying out, and the present war -bids fair to give it its death-stroke.</p> - -<p>Behind the Revolution lay no fine feudal instinct, -no traditions save those of bitter hatred and of resentment -on the one hand, of contempt and oppression -on the other. Not, it will be acknowledged, the best -material out of which to reconstitute a broken world. -And so what might be called collective sympathy was -a feeble plant, struggling pitifully in unfavourable soil. -The great upper class which has made England so -peculiarly what she is scarcely existed in France. -The old aristocracy passed away, the new sprang from -the Napoleonic knapsack; Demos in a gilt frame, a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> -Demos who had much to forget and infinitely more to -learn.</p> - -<p>Some philanthropic societies, of course, existed -before the war, but, so far as my knowledge of them -goes, they were run by the State or by its delegates, -the iron hand of officialdom closed down upon them, -they made little if any claim upon the heart of the -people. Perhaps in a nation of such indomitable -independence no more was necessary, but what was -necessary—if I may dare to say so—was large-hearted -sympathy and understanding between class -and class—a common meeting-ground, in fact.</p> - -<p>So, at least, I read the problem, and offer you my -solution for what it is worth, uncomfortably aware -that wiser heads than mine may laugh me out of -court and sentence me to eternal derision.</p> - -<p>One thing, at least, I do not wish, and that is to bring -in a verdict of general inhumanity and hard-heartedness -against the French nation. A certain imperceptiveness, -lack of intuition, of insight, of the sympathetic imagination—call -it what you will—is, perhaps, theirs in a -measure; but, on the other hand, the individual -responds quickly, even emotionally, to an appeal to -his softer side. Only he has not acquired the habit -of exposing his soft side to view and asking the needy -to lean upon it! Nor has he acquired the habit of -going forth to look for people ready to lean. He -accepts the <i lang="la">status quo</i>. But prove to him that it -needs altering, and he is with you heart and hand. -His is an attitude of mind, not of heart. When the -heart is touched the mind becomes its staunchest ally. -The feeding of the refugees done on lavish scale, the -installation of a hostel for the relatives of men dying<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> -in hospital are instances of what I mean. For months, -years, poor women, wives and mothers coming to take -their last farewell of those who gave their lives for -France, had no welcome in Bar. All too often they -were unable to find a bed, they wandered the streets -when the hospitals were closed against them, they -slept in the station. Then a <i lang="fr">Médicin-Chef</i>, with a big -heart and reforming mind, suggested that the refugee -dormitories in the market should be converted into a -hostel. No sooner suggested than done. The "Maison -des Parents" sprang into life, a tiny charge was made -for <i lang="fr">le gîte et la table</i>, voluntary helpers served the -meals, organised, catered, kept the accounts. France -only needs to be shown the way. One day she will -seek it out for herself. Every day she is finding new -roads. And this I am sure every one who has worked -as our Society has done will endorse, no appeal has -ever been made in vain to those who, like our friends -in Bar-le-Duc and elsewhere, gave with unstinting -generosity and without self-advertisement.</p> - - -<p class="center">II</p> - -<p>Think, too, of the hospitals. The call of the wounded -was answered magnificently. Remember that before -the war French hospitals were very much where ours -were in the days of Mrs. Gamp, and before Florence -Nightingale carried her lamp through their dark and -noisome places. It is said that the nursing used to be -done by nuns for the most part, a fact of which the -Government took no cognisance when it drove the -religious orders from the country, and when they went<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> -away it fell into the hands of riff-raff. Women of no -character, imported by students as worthless as themselves, -masqueraded as ministering angels, and it is -safe to assume that they neither ministered nor were -angelic. Gentlewomen, even the <i lang="fr">petit bourgeoisie</i>, -drew their skirts aside from such creatures. The -woman of good birth and education who became a -nurse, not only violated her code by earning her living, -but cut her social cables and drifted out upon an almost -uncharted sea. Only the few who were brave enough -to attempt it trained (if my authorities are reliable) -in England, and no doubt it was owing in large measure -to them that a movement for re-organising the hospitals -was set on foot. But before the project could mature -the church bells, ringing out their call to arms, rang -out a call to French women too, and gathered them -into the nursing profession.</p> - -<p>Perhaps that is why the hale, hearty, often dirty, -and by no means always respectful <i lang="fr">poilu</i> has been -neglected. Woman seeing him wounded had no eye -for him whole. Besides, he is rather a bewildering -thing; his gods are not her gods, his standards not her -standards, she is—dare I whisper it?—just a little -afraid of him, as we are apt to be of the thing we do -not understand. All her instinct has bidden her -banish him from her orbit, but insensibly, inevitably -he is beginning to move in it, to worm himself in. -Wounded, she has him at her mercy, and when, repaired, -patched and nursed into the semblance of a man again, -he goes back to the trenches surely she can never -think of him in the old way, or look at him from the -old angle? As your true democrat is at heart a complete -snob, the poor <i lang="fr">poilu</i> used to be, and is probably<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> -to a large extent still, looked down upon as an inferior -being. Conscription rubbed the hero from him, but -the human being is beginning to emerge.</p> - -<p>It is possible that in the hospitals another revolution -is taking place which, if unseen and unguessed at, may -be scarcely less far-reaching in its effects than the old. -It has at least drawn the women outside the charmed -circle of the home, it is bringing them hourly into -contact with a side of life which, but for the war, might -have remained a closed book whose pages they would -always have shrunk from turning. Such close contact -with human agony, endurance and death cannot -leave them unmoved, and though they have not yet -thoroughly mastered the knack of making hospitals -<span class="smcap">HOMES</span>, though many little comforts, graces and -refinements that we think essential are missing, still, -when one remembers the overwhelming ignorance with -which they began and the difficulties they had to -contend with, we must concede that they have done -wonders. For, unlike our V.A.D.s, they did not -step into up-to-date, well-appointed wards with lynx-eyed -sisters, steeped in the best traditions, waiting to -instruct them. Experience was their teacher. They -were amateurs doing professional work, and without -discredit to them we may sympathise with the soldiers -who, transferred from a hospital under British management -to one run by their own compatriots, wept like -children. Which shows that though we may deny him -the quality, the <i lang="fr">poilu</i> appreciates and is grateful for -a good dose of judicious petting.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="center">III</p> - -<p>Yes! The <i lang="fr">poilu</i> deserves our sympathy. He is, -to my mind, one of the most tragic figures of the war. -He is pursued by a fatalism as relentless as it is hopeless, -and whether he is ill or well is subjected to much -unnecessary discomfort. He hates war, he hates the -trenches, he loathes the life of the trenches, he wants -nothing so much in the world as his own hearthstone. -He is often despairing, and convinced of defeat. -("Mademoiselle, never can we drive the Boche from -his trenches, <em>never</em>!") and yet he goes on. There lies -the hero in him—he goes on. Not one in a hundred -of him has Tommy's cheery optimism, unfailing good-humour, -cheerful grumble and certainty of victory. -And yet he goes on! He sings <i lang="fr">L'Internationale</i>, he -vows in regiments that "on ne marchera plus. C'est -fini"—but he goes on. He is really rather wonderful, -for he has borne the brunt of heavy fighting for more -than three years, and behind him is no warm barrage -of organised care, of solicitude for his welfare, or public -ministration to shield him from the devils of depression -and despair. His wife, his sister, his mother may -pinch and starve to send him little comforts, but he is -conscious of the pinching, he has not yet got the great -warm heart of a generous nation at his back. Think -of his pay, of his separation allowances (those of the -refugees, one franc twenty-five per day per adult, fifty -centimes per day per child), and then picture him fighting -against heavy odds, standing up to and defying the -might of Germany at Verdun. Isn't he wonderful?</p> - -<p>He seems to have no hope of coming through the war -alive. In canteen, in the train, in the kitchens of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span> -refugees you may hear him say, "At Verdun or on the -Somme, what matter? It will come some time, and -best for those to whom it comes quickly."</p> - -<p>"Ceux qui cherchent la mort ne la trouve jamais." -The speaker was a quick, vivid thing, obviously not -of the working classes. He had been <i lang="fr">cité</i> (mentioned) -more than once, and offered his stripes with a view to -a commission several times, but had always refused -them. "For me, I do not mind, but think of the responsibility -... to know that the lives of others hung -upon you, your coolness, quickness, readiness of decision. -<em>Impossible!</em> And it is the sergeants who die. -The mortality among them is higher than in any other -rank. They must expose themselves more, you see.... -Oh yes, there are men who are afraid, and there -are men who try to die." It was then he added, "But -those who seek death never find it. The man who -hesitates, who peers over the top of the trench, who -looks this way and that, wondering if the moment is -good, he gets killed; but the man who is not afraid, -the man who wants to die, he rushes straight out, he -rushes straight up to the Boche ... he is never hurt."</p> - -<p>And then he and his companion talked of men who -longed to die, who courted death but in vain. Both -expressed a quiet, unemotional conviction that Death -would come to them before long. And both wore the -Croix de Guerre.</p> - -<p>Old Madame Leblan—you remember her?—had a -nephew whom she loved as a son. He and her own -boys had grown up together, and she would talk to -me of Paul by the hour. He saw all the Verdun fighting, -and before that much that was almost as fierce; -he visited her during every leave, he brought her and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> -her family gifts, napkin-rings, pen-handles, paper-cutters, -finger-rings, all sorts of odds and ends made -in the trenches from shell-cases and the like. He was -always cheery, always sure he would come again. -Paul was like a breeze of sunny wind, he never lost -heart, he never lost hope—until they gave him his -commission. He refused it over and over again. -Then his Colonel, taxing him with want of patriotism, -forced him to accept it. That week he wrote to -Madame. He told her of his promotion, adding, "In -a fortnight I shall get leave, so I am looking forward -to seeing you all, unless...."</p> - -<p>She showed me the letter. She pointed to that -significant "unless...."</p> - -<p>"Never have I known Paul to write like that. -Always he said I will come." Her heart was full of -foreboding, and next time I saw her she took out the -letter with shaking hands. Paul was dead.</p> - -<p>"He knew," she said, as she wept bitterly; "he -knew when he took his commission."</p> - -<p>A reconnaissance from which all his men got back -safely, Paul last of all, crawling on hands and knees -... raises himself to take a necessary observation ... -a sniper ... a swift bullet ... a merciful death ... -and an old heart bleeding from a wound that will never -heal.</p> - -<p>"If we see Death in front of us we care no more for -it than we do for that." A Zouave held a glass of -lemonade high above the canteen counter. "For that -is the honour of the regiment. Death?" he shrugged. -"One will die, <i lang="fr">sans doute</i>. At Verdun, on the Somme, -<i lang="fr">n'importe</i>! My <i lang="fr">copain</i> here has been wounded twice. -And I? I had two brothers, they are both in your<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> -cemetery here. Yes, killed at Verdun, M'amzelle; -I was wounded. Some day I suppose that we, <i lang="fr">nous -aussi</i>...." Again he shrugged. "Will you give -me another lemonade?"</p> - -<p>He and his companion wore the <i lang="fr">fourragère</i>, the cord -of honour, given to regiments for exceptional gallantry -in the field. They had been at Vaux. And what -marvels of endurance and sheer pluck the Zouaves -exhibited there are matters now of common knowledge. -Personally, I nourish a calm conviction that -but for them and their whirlwind sacrifice Verdun -must have fallen.</p> - - -<p class="center">IV</p> - -<p>Fatalists? Yes. But a thousand other things besides. -It is useless to try and offer you the <i lang="fr">poilu</i> in -tabloid form, he refuses to be reduced to a formula. -The pessimist of to-day is the inconsequent child of -to-morrow. You pity him for his misfortunes, and -straightway he makes you yearn to chastise him for -his impertinence. His manners—especially in the -street—like the Artless Bahdar's, "are not always nice." -He can be, and all too often is, frankly indecent; indeed -there are hours when you ask yourself wildly whether -indecency is not just a question of opinion, and whether -standards must shift when frontiers are crossed, and -a new outlook on life be acquired as diligently and as -open-mindedly as one acquires—or strives to!—a -Parisian accent.</p> - -<p>It is, of course, in the canteen that he can be studied -most easily. There you see him in all his moods, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> -there you need all your wits about you if you are not -to be put out of court a hundred times a day. Canteens -are, as we have seen, accidental luxuries on the -French front. They took root in most inhospitable -soil. As happy hunting-grounds for the pacifists and -anti-war agitators they were feared, their value as -restoratives (I speak temperamentally, not gastronomically) -being practically unknown. But once known it -was recognised. The canteen at Bar-le-Duc, for -instance, has been the means of opening up at least -two others, though the opinion of one General, forcibly -expressed when it was in process of installation, filled -its promoters with darkest gloom.</p> - -<p>"There will not be an unsmashed bowl, cup or plate -in a week. The men will destroy everything." And -therein proved himself a false prophet, for the men -destroyed nothing—except our faith in that General's -knowledge of them!</p> - -<p>Once, indeed, we did see them in unbridled mood, -and many and deep were the complications that followed -it. It was New Year's Eve, and as I crossed the station -yard I could hear wild revelry ascending to the night. -(Perhaps at this point it would be as well to say that -the canteen was not run by or connected in any way -with our Society, and that I and two members of the -<i lang="fr">coterie</i> worked there as supernumeraries in the evenings -when other work was done. The fourth and by no -means last member was one of the fairy godmothers -whose magic wand had waved it into being.) Going in, -I found it as usual in a fog of smoke, and thronged with -men. Now precisely what befell it would take too -long to relate, but I admit you to some esoteric knowledge. -The evening, for me, began with songs sung in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> -chorus, passed swiftly to solos which blistered the air, -and which would have been promptly silenced had not -Authority warned us "to leave the men alone, they are -in dangerous mood to-night." (A warning with which -one helper, at least, had no sympathy.) It may safely -be assumed that there was much in those songs which -we did not understand, but, judging by what we did, -ignorance was more than bliss, it was the topmost -pinnacle of discretion.</p> - -<p>The soloist hoarse (he should have had a megaphone, -so terrific was the din), his place was taken by a creature -so picturesque that all my hearts went out to him at -once. (It is as well to take a few hundred with you -when you go to France, they have such a trick of mislaying -themselves.) He was tall and slender, finely -made, splendidly poised, well-knit, a graceful thing -with finished gestures, and he wore a red fez, wide -mustard-coloured trousers and a Zouave coat. He -was singularly handsome with chiselled features and -eyes of that deep soft brown that one associates with -the South. Furthermore, he possessed no mean gift -of oratory.</p> - -<p>He stood on the bench that did duty as a platform. -Jan Van Steen might have painted the canteen then, -or would he have vulgarised it? In spite of everything, -in some indefinable way it was not vulgar, and yet -we instinctively felt that it ought to have been. What -saved it? Ah, that I cannot tell. Perhaps the dim -light, or the faint blueish haze of tobacco smoke, the -stacked arms, trench-helmets hanging on the walls. -Or else that wonderful horizon-blue, a colour that is -capable of every artistic <i lang="fr">nuance</i>, that lures the imagination, -that offers a hundred beauties to the eye, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> -can resolve itself as exquisitely against the dark boarding -of a canteen as against the first delicate green of -spring, or against autumn woods a riot of colour.</p> - -<p>Now the speech of that graceless creature, swaying -lightly above the crowd, was everything that a canteen -or war-time speech ought not to be. It began with -abuse of capitalists—well, they deserved it, perhaps. -It taxed them with all responsibility for the war, it -yearned passionately to see them in the trenches. -There, at least, we were in accord. We know a few.... -But when it went on to say that the masses who fought -were fools, that they should "down tools," that the -German is too rich, too powerful, too well-organised, -too supreme a militarist ever to be defeated.... -Then British pride arose in arms.... Just what -might have happened I cannot say, for French pride -arose too, and as it rose the orator descended, and holy -calm fell for a moment upon the raging tumult.</p> - -<p>It was indeed a hectic evening, and I, for one, was -hoarse for two days after it. Even "Monsieur désire?" -or "Ça fait trente-trois sous, Monsieur," was an exercise -requiring vocal cords of steel or of wire in such a -hubbub, and mine, alas! are of neither.</p> - -<p>But the descent of the orator was not the end. -Somehow, no matter how, it came to certain ears that -the canteen that night had been the scene of an "orgy," -the reputation of France was at stake, and so it befell -that one afternoon when the thermometer sympathetically -registered twenty-two degrees of frost, Colonel X. -interviewed those of us who had assisted at the revels, -separately one by one, in the little office behind the -canteen. He wanted, it seems, to find out exactly -what had happened. Well, he found out!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span></p> - -<p>Put to the question, "Colonel X.," quoth I, not -knowing the enormity I was committing, "the men -had drunk a little too much."</p> - -<p>"But, Mademoiselle," his dignity was admirable, -reproof was in every line of his exquisitely-fitting -uniform, "soldiers of France are never drunk."</p> - -<p>"Then"—this very sweetly—"can you tell me -where they get the wine?"</p> - -<p>And he told me! He ought to have shot me, of -course, and no doubt I should richly have deserved it. -But inadvertently I had touched upon one of his pet -grievances. The military authorities can close the -<i lang="fr">débitants</i> and restaurants, but they cannot close the -<i lang="fr">épiceries</i>.</p> - -<p>"Every grocer in France," he cried, "can get a -license to sell wine. He sends a small boy—<i lang="fr">un vrai -gosse</i>—to the Bureau, he stamps a certificate, he pays -a few francs, and that is all. A soldier can fill his bottle -at any grocer's in the town. Why," he went on, the -original cause of our interview forgotten and the delinquent -turned confidante, "not long ago I entrained a -regiment here sober, Mademoiselle, I assure you sober, -but when they arrived at R—— they were drunk. -And the General was furious. 'What do you mean by -sending me drunken soldiers?' he thundered. They -had filled their bottles, they were thirsty in the -train...."</p> - -<p>But officially, you understand, soldiers of France are -never drunk. Actually they seldom are. Coming -home after six months in Bar, I saw more soldiers under -the influence of drink in a week (it included a journey -to Ireland in a train full of ultra-cheerful souls) than -in all my time in France. That men who were far from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> -sober came occasionally to the canteen cannot be -denied, there are rapscallions in every army, but the -percentage was small, and with twenty-two degrees of -frost gnawing his vitals there is excuse for the man -who solaces himself with wine.</p> - - -<p class="center">V</p> - -<p>It was characteristic of the French mind that -Colonel X. could not understand why we did not call -the station guard and turn the rioters into the street. -To wander about in that bitter wind, to get perhaps -into all sorts of trouble! Better a rowdy canteen a -hundred times over.</p> - -<p>We were frank enough—at least I know I was—on -that aspect of the episode, and, all honour to him, he -conceded a point though he failed to understand its -necessity. But now, as at so many pulsating moments -of my career, the ill-luck that dogs me seized me in the -person of the Canteen-Chief and removed me from the -room. She, poor ignorant dear, thought I was being -indiscreet, whereas I was merely being receptive. I -am sure I owe that Canteen-Chief a grudge, and I -<span class="smcap">HOPE</span> the Colonel thinks he does, but on that point his -discretion has been perfect.</p> - -<p>Only in the very direst extremity would we have -called in the station guard. We knew the deep-seated -animosity with which the soldier views the gendarme. -I may be wrong, but my firm impression is that he -hates him even more than, or quite as much, as he hates -the Boche. I suppose because he does not fight. There -must be something intensely irritating to a war-scarred<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span> -soldier in the sight of a strapping, well-fed, comfortable -policeman. You know the story of the wounded -Tommy making his way back from the lines and being -accosted by a red-cap?</p> - -<p>"'Some' fight, eh?" he inquired blandly.</p> - -<p>"Some don't," retorted Tommy, and that sums the -situation up more neatly than a volume of explanation.</p> - -<p>Once, after the Walpurgis Night, a man chose to be -noisy and slightly offensive in the canteen. It was a -thing that rarely happened, and could always be dealt -with, but, smarting possibly under a reprimand, the -guard rushed in, seized a quiet, inoffensive, rather -elderly man who was meekly drinking his coffee, and -in spite of remonstrances and protestations in which -the canteen-workers joined, dragged him off, cutting -his throat rather badly with a bayonet in the scuffle. -A little incident which in no way inclined us to lean for -support, moral or otherwise, upon the guardians of -military law. But we gave them their coffee or -chocolate piping hot just the same.</p> - -<p>And there were weeks when hot drinks were more -acceptable than would have been promise of salvation.</p> - -<p>"Bien chaud" ("Very hot") they would cry, coming -in with icicles on their moustaches and snow thick on -their shoulders. Once an officer asked for coffee.</p> - -<p>"Very hot, please."</p> - -<p>"It is boiling, Monsieur." He gulped it down.</p> - -<p>"It is the first hot food I have tasted for fourteen -days."</p> - -<p>"From Vaux?" we asked.</p> - -<p>"Yes, front line trenches. Everything frozen, the -wine in the wine-casks solid. Yes, another bowl, -please."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span></p> - -<p>Once another officer came in accompanied by an -older man whom we thought must be his father. He -begged for water.</p> - -<p>"It comes straight from the main tap, it is neither -filtered nor boiled," we told him.</p> - -<p>"<i lang="fr">N'importe.</i>" No, he would not have tea nor coffee. -Water, cold water. He had a raging, a devouring -thirst. A glass was filled and given him.</p> - -<p>"Suppose Monsieur gets typhoid?"</p> - -<p>"He has it now," the elderly man replied. "His -temperature is high, that is why he has so great thirst." -The patient drank another glass. Then they both went -away. We often wondered whether he recovered.</p> - -<p>Once, at least, our hearts went out to another sick -man. He leaned against the counter with pallid face, -over which the sweat of physical weakness was breaking. -Questioned, he told us he had just been discharged -from hospital, he was going back to the trenches, to -Verdun, in the morning. He looked as if he ought to -have been in his bed. I wonder if any society exists -in France with the object of helping such men? We -never heard of one (which by no means proves that it -does not exist), but oh, how useful it might have been -in Bar! One morning, for instance, a man tottered -into the canteen, ordered a cup of coffee, drank, laid -his head down on the table and fell into a stupefied -doze. So long did he remain the canteeners became -anxious. Presently he stirred, and told them that he -had come there straight from a hospital, that he was -going home on leave, that his home was far—perhaps -two days' journey—away, and he had not a sou in his -pocket. He was by no means an isolated case. As -a packet of food was being made up for him, a soldier,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> -obviously a stranger to the sick man, ordered <i lang="fr">deux -œufs sur-le-plat</i>."</p> - -<p>"They are not for myself," he said, "but for the -pal here." A little act of good comradeship that was -by no means the only one of its kind.</p> - -<p>The moment which always thrilled was that in which -a regimental Rothschild treated his companions to -the best of our store. How eagerly and exhaustively -the list of <i lang="fr">boissons</i> was studied!</p> - -<p>"Un café? C'est combien? Deux sous? ce n'est -pas cher ça." Then to a friend, "Qu'est-ce-que-tu-prends?"</p> - -<p>"Moi? je veux bien un café."</p> - -<p>"No, non, un chocolat. C'est très bon le chocolat." -The coffee lover wavers.</p> - -<p>"Soit. Un chocolat alors." Then some one else -cannot make up his mind. A bearded man pouring -<i lang="fr">bouillon</i> down his throat recommends that. It is excellent. -The merits of soup are discussed. Then back -they go to coffee again, and all the time as seriously -as if the issue of the war depended upon their deliberations. -At length, however, a decision is made—not -without much pleading for <i lang="fr">gniolle</i> (rum) on the part of -Rothschild. "A drop? Just a tiny drop, Mad'm'zelle. -Eh, there is none? <i lang="fr">Mais comment ça?</i> How -can one drink a <i lang="fr">jus</i> (coffee) without <i lang="fr">gniolle</i>? Mad'm'zelle -is not kind." He would wheedle a bird from the -bushes, but happily for our strength of mind there is no -drink stronger than <i lang="fr">jus</i> in the canteen, a fact he finds -it exceedingly difficult to believe. We know that when -at last he accepts defeat he is convinced that fat bottles -lie hidden under the counter to be brought forth for -one whose powers of persuasion are greater than his.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span> -He loads his bowls on a tray, carries them by some -occult means unbroken through the throng, and has -his reward when the never-failing ceremony of clinking -bowls or glasses with <i lang="fr">Bonne chance!</i> or <i lang="fr">Bonne Santé!</i> -or <i lang="fr">À vous</i>, prefaces the feast.</p> - -<p>A pretty rite that of the French. Never did two -comrades drink together in the canteen without doing -it reverence. Never did I, visiting a refugee, swallow, -for my sins, <i lang="fr">vin ordinaire rouge</i> in which a lump of -sugar had been dissolved without first clinking glasses -with my hosts and murmuring a "Good health," or -"Good luck," and feeling strangely and newly in -sympathy with them as I did so. The little rite -invested commonplace hospitality with grace and -spiritual meaning.</p> - - -<p class="center">VI</p> - -<p>However, you must not think that the canteen kept -us in a state of soppy sentiment, or even of perfervid -sympathy. Sanity was the mood that suited it best. -Presence of mind the quality that made for success. -A sense of humour the saving grace that made both the -former possible. When a thin, dark individual leans -upon the counter for half an hour or more, silent, -ruminative, pondering—it is a quiet night, no rush—gather -your forces together. His eyes follow you -wherever you go, you see revelations hovering on his -lips. You become absorbed in ham or sausage (horse-sausage -is incredibly revolting), but your absorption -cannot last. Even sausages fail to charm, and then the -dark one sees his opportunity. He leans towards you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> -... His faith in himself must be immense.... Does he -really think that a journey to Paris at 2 a.m. in an -omnibus train and a snowstorm can tempt you? If -we had consoled all the lonely <i lang="fr">poilus</i> who offered us—temporarily—their -hands, their hearts and their five -sous a day we should now be confirmed bigamists.</p> - -<p>Or it may be that you are busy and contemplation -of sausage unnecessary. Then he sets up a maddening -<i lang="fr">Dîtes, dîtes, dîtes, Mad'm'zelle</i>, that drives you to -distraction. To silence him is impossible. Indifference -leaves him unmoved. He is like a clock in a -nightmare that goes on striking <span class="smcap">ONE</span>!</p> - -<p>That he has an eye for beauty goes without saying. -"Voilà, une jolie petite brune! Vas-y." So two vagabonds -catching sight of a decorative canteener, and -off they go to discuss the price of ham, for only by such -prosaic means can Sentiment leap over the counter. -He addresses you by any and every name that comes -into his head. "La mère," "la patronne" (these before -he grasped the fact that the canteen was an -<i lang="fr">œuvre</i> and not a commercial enterprise), "la petite," -"la belle," "la belle Marguerite," "la Frisée," "la -Dame aux Lunettes," "la petite Rose," and many -others I have forgotten.</p> - -<p>Indeed, the French aptitude for nicknames based on -physical attributes was constantly thrust on us. The -refugees, finding our own names uncomfortable upon -the tongue, fell back on descriptive nomenclature. -"La Blonde," "la Blanche," for the fair-haired. "La -Grande," "la Belle," "la belle Dame au Lunettes," -"la petite bleue," "la Directrice," "la grande dame -maigre." And once when a bill was in dispute in a -shop the proprietress exclaimed, "Is it that you wish<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span> -to know who bought the goods? It was la petite qui -court toujours et qui est toujours si pressée" (the -little lady who always runs and is always in such a -hurry). As a verbal snapshot it has never been -equalled. It would have carried conviction in any -court in the country.</p> - -<p>But most of all the heart of the soldier rejoices when -he can call you his <i lang="fr">marraine</i> (godmother). That we, -mere English, pursued by ardent souls, should sometimes -be compelled to send out S.O.S. messages to our -comrades; that, feeling the mantle of our dignity slipping -perilously from our shoulders, we should cast aside -our remote isolation and engage the worker in the -"next department" in animated conversation, was -only to be expected. But our hearts rejoiced and the -imps in us danced ecstatically when Madame D. was -discovered one day hiding in the office. She, splendid -ally that she always was, volunteered to sit at the receipt -of custom on certain afternoons each week, and, clad -in her impenetrable panoply, at once suavely polite, -gracious but infinitely aloof, to sell <i lang="fr">tickés</i> with subdued -but inextinguishable enjoyment. But a lonely <i lang="fr">poilu</i> -strayed by who badly needed a <i lang="fr">marraine</i>, and so -persistent was he in his demands, so irresistible in his -pleadings, so embarrassing in his attentions, Madame, -the panoply melting and dignity snatched by the winds, -fled to the office, from whence no persuasions could -lure her till the lonely one had gone his unsatisfied way.</p> - -<p>It is the man from the <i lang="fr">pays envahi</i> who, most of all, -needs a <i lang="fr">marraine</i>, e. g. a sympathetic, sensible woman -who will write to him, send him little gifts and take -an interest in his welfare. Because all too often he -stands friendless and alone. His relatives, his family<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> -having remained in their homes, between him and them -lies silence more awful than death. He is a prey to -torturing fears, he endures much agony of mind, dark -forebodings hang about him like a miasma poisoning -all his days. No news! And his loved ones, in the -hands of a merciless foe, may be in the very village -the French or the British are shelling so heavily! -From his place in the trenches he may see the tall -chimneys, the church spire in the distance. He has -been gazing yearningly at them for two years, has seen -landmarks crumble and steeples totter as the guns -searched out first one, then another.... A <i lang="fr">marraine</i> -may well save the reason of such men as these. She -can assuredly rob life of much of its bitterness, and -inspire it with hope and courage to endure.</p> - -<p>One of these men who came from Stenay told us of -his misery. He had done well in the army, had been -promoted, might have been commissioned, but his -loneliness, the vultures of conjecture that tugged at -his heart, his longing and his grief overwhelmed him -one night, and seeking distraction in unwise ways he -fell into dire trouble, and was reduced to the ranks....</p> - -<p>And yet, though I write of these poor derelicts, it is -the gay and gallant who holds my imagination. The -thing of the "glad eye," and the swagger, the jest, -"Going <i lang="fr">en permission</i>, Mad'm'zelle," the happiest -thing in France! It is he, the irrepressible, who carries -gaiety through the streets as he rolls by in his <i lang="fr">camions</i>; -he sings, he plays discordant instruments, he buys -<i lang="fr">couronnes</i> of bread, he shouts to the women. "Ah, -la belle fille!" "Mad'm'zelle, on aura un rendez-vous -là-bas." Sometimes he is more explicit:—intermittent -deafness is an infirmity of psychological value in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> -War Zone! And he thoroughly enjoys the canteen. -He likes "ploom-cak," he likes being waited on by <i lang="fr">Les -Anglaises</i>, he likes the small refinements (though now -and then he "borrows" the forks), he appreciates -generosity, he is by no means ungrateful (see him -pushing a few coppers across the counter with a shamefaced -"C'est pour l'œuvre"), and at his worst, least -controlled, most objectionable, he can be shamed into -silence or an apology by a few firm or tactful words.</p> - -<p>A bewildering thing! If I wrote of him for ever I -should not be able to explain him.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span></p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><a name="ENVOI" id="ENVOI">ENVOI</a></h2> -</div> - -<p>And so the tale is written, and the story told in -strange halting numbers that can but catch here and -there at the great melody of the human symphony.</p> - -<p>Just for one moment one may lay one's finger on -the pulse of a great nation, feel its heart beat, feel the -quivering, throbbing life that flows through its veins, -but more than that who dare hope to gain? Not in -one phase, nor in one era, not in one great crisis nor -even in a myriad does the heart of a people express -itself fully. From birth to death, from its first feeble -primitive struggles as it emerges from the Womb of -Time to its last death-throe as it sinks back again -into the Nothingness from which it came, it gathers -to itself new forces, new aspirations, new voices, new -gods, new altars, new preachers, new goals, new -Heavens, new Hells, new readings of the Riddle that -only Eternity will solve. It is in perpetual solution, -and the composite atoms that compose it are in a state -of unending change and transmutation; it dies but -to live again in other forms, is silent only to express -itself through new and—may we not hope it?—more -finely-tuned instruments.</p> - -<p>Summarising it to-day you may say of your summary, -This is Truth. But to-morrow it is already -falsehood, for the Nation, bound upon the Wheel of -Evolution, has passed on, leaving you bewildered by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> -the way. And since the war has thrown the nations -of the world into the crucible, until they come forth -again, and not till then, may we say, with finality, -"This is gold, or that alloy."</p> - -<p>France is being subjected to a severe test; her -burden is almost more than she can bear, but as she -shoulders it we see the gold shining, we believe that -the dross is falling away. No defeat in the field—if -such an end were possible—can rob her of her glory, -just as no victory could save Germany from shame. -"What shall it profit a Nation if it gain the whole -world, and lose its own soul?" The soul of Germany -is withered and dead. She has sacrificed it on the -Altar of Militarism, and has set up the galvanic battery -of a relentless despotism and crude materialism in its -place.</p> - -<p>But the Soul of France lives on, strengthened and -purified, the Soul of a Nation that seeks the Light and -surely one day shall find it.</p> - - -<p class="center">THE END</p> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="center"><span class="smcap"><small>Printed in Great Britain by Richard Clay & Sons, Limited, -BRUNSWICK ST., STAMFORD ST., S.E. 1, AND BUNGAY, SUFFOLK.</small></span>,</p> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><a name="Skeffingtons" id="Skeffingtons">Skeffington's -Early Spring Novels.</a></h2></div> -<hr class="small" /> - -<p class="center">ONE OF THE MOST IMPORTANT NOVELS OF THE SPRING.</p> - -<p class="hang"><b>Captain Dieppe</b>: By <span class="smcap">Anthony Hope</span>, Author of "The -Prisoner of Zenda," "Rupert of Hentzau," etc., etc. Crown 8vo, -cloth, 5s. net.</p> - -<div class="small"> -<p>In this novel, Anthony Hope, after a long interval, returns again to similar -scenes that formed the background of his famous novel "The Prisoner of -Zenda."</p> - -<p>Captain Dieppe, adventurer, servant of fortune, and, if not a fugitive, still -a man to whom recognition would be inconvenient and perhaps dangerous, -with only fifty francs in his pocket and a wardrobe in a knapsack might be -seen marching up a long steep hill on a stormy evening. Later he finds -himself before a castle bordering on a river and his curiosity is roused by -finding only one half of the house lighted up. He meets the Count of -Fieramondi, hears from him a strange story, and of course takes an active -interest in his affairs.</p> - -<p>The story, which has a powerful love interest running through it, tells of his -many adventures.</p> -<hr class="full" /></div> - - - -<p class="hang"><b>The Test</b>: By <span class="smcap">Sybil Spottiswoode</span>, Author of "Her Husband's -Country," "Marcia in Germany," etc. Cloth, 6s. net.</p> - -<div class="small"> -<p>This delightful novel can be thoroughly recommended. It gives a very -true impression of a bit of English life in and about a provincial town in -War time. The story concerns three daughters of a Colonel, of whom the -eldest is the central figure. These and the other characters who are interwoven -into the story are absolutely natural, convincing and typical, and -will be found most interesting company.</p> - -<p>All the Author's Profits are to be devoted to Italian Refugees.</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>The Chronicles of St. Tid</b>: By <span class="smcap">Eden Phillpotts</span>. Cloth, -and with an attractive coloured wrapper, 6s. net.</p> - -<div class="small"> -<p>The scenes in this volume, which contains nearly 100,000 words, are laid -in the West Country, the most popular setting of this famous author. It -shows Eden Phillpotts at his best.</p> -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="center">A FINE NOVEL OF THE SOUTH SEAS BY A NEW AUTHOR.</p> - - - -<p class="hang"><b>Rotorua Rex</b>: By <span class="smcap">J. Allen Dunn</span>. Cloth, and with an -attractive coloured wrapper, 6s. net.</p> -<div class="small"> -<p>Everybody is on the look-out for a good strong story of love and adventure. -Here is an exceptionally fine one, on the South Seas, which all lovers of -Stevenson's and Stacpoole's novels will thoroughly enjoy. Each page grips -the attention of the reader, and few will put the book down till the last page -is reached.</p> - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>Simpson of Snell's</b>: By <span class="smcap">William Hewlett</span>, Author of "The -Child at the Window," "Introducing William Allison," "The -Plot Maker," etc. Cloth, with an attractive coloured wrapper, 6s. net.</p> -<div class="small"> -<p>This is a story, or rather study, of a young clerk, the type of clerk that -the modern commercial machine turns out by the hundred thousand as a -by-product of our civilization. Simpson, invoicing clerk at Snell's, the -celebrated patent-food people, had always seen life through the medium -of thirty shillings a week, and the only oasis in his dreary desert of existence -was his annual fortnight at Margate, where flannels, cheap excitements and -"girls" abounded.</p> - -<p>Why did not Mr. William Hewlett leave Simpson in this humble obscurity? -Well, because Destiny had a great and moving part for him in the comedy of -life! I don't think Simpson ever realized it was a "part" he was playing. -It was certainly not the part he planned for himself, and throughout the -period in which, at Mr. Hewlett's bidding he appears as a public character, -he is seen almost invariably doing the thing he dislikes.</p> - -<p>Simpson would have pursued the customary course of clerking and philandering -to the end of his days, had it not been for an enterprising hosier, an -unenterprising actor and the egregious Ottley—the public-school "Spark" -dropped into Snell's like a meteor from the skies. The hosier and the actor -introduced poor Simpson to "temperament," and temperament is a restive -horse in a needy clerk's stable. But Ottley introduced him to Winnie. -Winnie was there before, of course, a typist in his own office. But it was not -until Ottley wove his evil web for Nancy that Winnie wove her innocent -spell for Simpson. And because Winnie held Simpson securely and loved -her friend's honour better than her own happiness, he rose to the full height -of manhood, and to make the supreme sacrifice which turned him, an avowed -enemy of heroics, into the greatest and most unexpected of heroes.</p> - -<p>The story has a strong love-interest running through it with a most -dramatic ending. It cannot fail to increase Mr. William Hewlett's popularity, -and the publishers wish to draw special attention to it.</p> -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="center">A LADY "SHERLOCK HOLMES."</p> -<hr class="small" /> -<p class="center">A FINE NOVEL BY A NEW AUTHOR.</p> - - - -<p class="hang"><b>The Green Jacket</b>: By <span class="smcap">Jennette Lee</span>. A thrilling story of a -Lady Detective who unravels a great Jewel Mystery. Cloth, and -with an attractive coloured wrapper, 6s. net.</p> -<div class="small"> -<p>Millicent Newberry, a small, inconspicuous woman in grey, is a clever -lady detective.</p> - -<p>She keeps green wool by her and knits a kind of pattern of her case into -the article she is making at the time. When the story opens, she is asked -to employ her wits to the loss of the Mason Emeralds. The Green Jacket is -the bit of knitting she has in hand. Her condition of undertaking a case is -permission to deal privately with the criminal as she thinks best—reforming -treatment rather than legal punishment—and she makes it work.</p> - -<p>This detective story can be thoroughly recommended. The Author combines -an exciting story with the charm of real literary art; the mystery is so -impenetrable as to baffle the cleverest readers until the very sentence in which -the secret is revealed.</p> -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="center">A REMARKABLE FIRST HISTORICAL NOVEL.</p> -<hr class="small" /> - - -<p class="hang"><b>Claymore!</b>: By <span class="smcap">Arthur Howden Smith</span>. A Story of the '45 -Rebellion. Cloth, and with an attractive coloured wrapper, 6s. net.</p> -<div class="small"> -<p>Here is a first novel which, we believe, will bring to the Author immediate -popularity. It is an attractive story of the Stuart Rebellion of the -'45, full of love and adventure and with a good ending. The hero, young -Chisholm, of English birth, joins Prince Charlie and the Stuart cause. How -he meets and loves Sheila, the young girl chieftain of the Mac Ross Clan, -and their many perils and adventures with rival claimants and traitors, -together with happenings of many historical persons and incidents appearing -throughout the story, make "Claymore" one of the best and arresting -historical novels published for many a year.</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>Tales that are Told</b>: By <span class="smcap">Alice Perrin</span>, Author of "The -Anglo-Indians," etc. Cloth, and with an attractive coloured -wrapper, 6s.</p> -<div class="small"> -<p>This volume consists of a short novel of about 25,000 words and several -fine Anglo-Indian and other stories.</p> - -<p class="center">EARLY REVIEWS.</p> -<hr class="small" /> -<p>"Ten of her very clever tales."—<i>The Globe.</i></p> - -<p>"This attractive book."—<i>Observer.</i></p> - -<p>"We can cordially recommend this book."—<i>Western Mail.</i></p> - -<p>"An admirable and distinguished bit of writing. Mrs. Perrin at her -best."—<i>Punch.</i></p> - -<p>"I can recommend these stories."—<i>Evening News.</i></p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>Sunny Slopes</b>: By <span class="smcap">Ethel Hueston</span>. Author of "Prudence -of the Parsonage." 6s. net. with an attractive 3-colour wrapper.</p> -<div class="small"> -<p>This story is an inspiration to cheerful living. Not the impossible, sentimental, -goody-goody kind, but the sane, sensible, human and humorous. -Take it up if you are down-cast and learn how to keep the sunny slopes in -sight, even if the way seems to lead into the dark valley.</p> - -<p>Its appeal is to all who love clean, wholesome, amusing fiction. Both -young and those not so young will glory in Carrol's fight for her husband's -life, and laugh over Connie's hopeless struggle to keep from acquiring a lord -and master. The quotations below will show you that Ethel Hueston has -something to say and knows how to say it.</p> - -<p>"If one can be pretty as well as sensible I think it's a Christian duty to -do it."</p> - -<p>"He is as good as an angel and as innocent as a baby. Two very good -traits, but dangerous when you take them both together."</p> - -<p>"The wickedest fires in the world would die out if there were not some idle -hands to fan them."</p> - -<p>"The only way to keep your husband out of danger is to tackle it yourself."</p> - -<p>"Read Chapter IV and see how Carol does it."</p> -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="center">TWO ENTIRELY NEW NOVELS, 3s. 6d. NET EACH.</p> -<hr class="small" /> - - -<p class="hang"><b>The Cabinet Minister</b>: By <span class="smcap">William Le Queux</span>. Cloth, and -with an attractive coloured wrapper, 3s. 6d. net.</p> -<div class="small"> -<p>Mr. Le Queux's famous detective novels need no introduction to readers; -they sell by the tens of thousands. The "Cabinet Minister" is a new novel -with a weird and fascinating plot which holds the reader from the first page -to the last. His Majesty's Cabinet Minister, Mr. George Chesham, has disappeared -in very mysterious circumstances, and in his place is a dead stranger, -who let himself into the house with Mr. Chesham's own latch-key. This is the -problem set for the public and readers to unravel. The story is full of highly -exciting incidents of love and adventure, with a strong detective interest—the -Covers unravelling the mystery—in the true Le Queux style.</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>The Secret Monitor</b>: By <span class="smcap">Guy Thorne</span>. Author of "The Secret -Submarine." Cloth, with an attractive coloured wrapper, 3s. 6d. net.</p> -<div class="small"> -<p>A remarkable, thrilling and swiftly-moving story of love, adventure and -mystery woven round about half a dozen characters on the Atlantic coast of -Ireland, Liverpool and elsewhere, in connection with the invention of a new -material made from papier mâché (destined to take the place of steel), and -the building of a wonderful new ship from it. Finally, when launched, -"The Secret Monitor" goes on a mission to destroy a German base, and -a succession of breathless adventures follow. This novel ought to considerably -increase the popularity which has been gradually and consistently -growing for Mr. Guy Thorne's mystery novels. No one, after picking up the -book, will want to put it down until the last page is read.</p> - -<hr class="full" /></div> -<p class="center"><b>SKEFFINGTON'S 1s. 6d. NOVELS.</b></p> -<div class="small"> -<p class="center">BOUND, AND WITH ATTRACTIVE PICTORIAL WRAPPERS.</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p class="hang"><b>Sir Nigel</b>: By <span class="smcap">A. Conan Doyle</span>.</p> - -<p class="hang"><b>Spragge's Canyon</b>: By <span class="smcap">H. A. Vachell</span> (Author of "Quinneys").</p> - -<p class="hang"><b>The Great Plot</b>: By <span class="smcap">William Le Queux</span>, "The Master of -Mystery."</p> - -<p class="hang"><b>The Mysterious Mr. Miller</b>: By <span class="smcap">William Le Queux</span>, "The -Master of Mystery."</p> - -<p class="hang"><b>The Leavenworth Case</b>: By <span class="smcap">Anna Katherine Green</span>.</p> - -<p class="center"><i>Also uniform with the above</i>:</p> - -<p class="hang"><b>A Woman Spy</b>: Further confessions and experiences of Germany's -principal Secret Service woman, Olga von Kopf, edited by <span class="smcap">Henry -de Halsalle</span>.</p></blockquote> -<hr class="full" /> - -<p class="center">London: SKEFFINGTON & SON, LTD., Publishers, 34, Southampton -Street, Strand, W.C.2.</p> - - -<p class="center"><i>Any of the Books in this List can be posted on receipt of a Remittance.</i></p> -<p class="center"><i>Postages to the Colonies are about 25% in excess of Inland Postages.</i></p> - -</div><hr class="full" /> - -<div class="center"> -<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> -<tr style="vertical-align: top"><td><img src="images/i_261a.png" alt="SandS monogram" /></td> -<td style="line-height: .75em" class="center"><span class="smcap"><small>Telegrams;<br /> -Language-Rand,<br /> -London.</small></span><br /> -—<br /> -<small><span class="smcap">Telephone No</span>.<br /> -7435 <span class="smcap">Gerrard.</span></small></td> -<td> -<img src="images/261.png" alt="To The Clergy, Lent , 1918." /><br /> - -<i>34, SOUTHAMPTON STREET</i>,<br /> -<i>STRAND, LONDON, W.C.2.</i></td></tr> -</table></div> - - -<p class="center"><i>PUBLISHERS TO HIS MAJESTY KING GEORGE V.</i></p> -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p class="center"><span class="xl"><b>SKEFFINGTON'S NEW LIST</b></span></p> - -<p>Including New Sermons for <span class="u">Lent, Good Friday</span> and <i>Easter</i>, many -of them with special reference to the <span class="u">Three Years of War</span>, and the -special conditions of the times in which we live. Manuals for -<span class="u">Confirmation, Easter Communion</span>.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" > -<img src="images/i_261b.png" alt="" /> -</div> - - - - -<p class="hang"><b>Thoughts for Dark Days</b>: By the Rev. <span class="smcap">H. L. Goudge</span>, -D.D., Canon of Ely. Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. 6d. net (postage 3d.).</p> -<div class="small"> -<p>The purpose of these excellent sermons is to bring out the value of the -Epistle of St. James in this present time of strain and difficulty. The writer -believes that St. James wrote in circumstances very similar to our own, and -that his teaching is in many instances exactly that which we require. The -sermons are arranged as a course for Lent and Easter, and contain an -exposition of almost every important passage in the Epistle.</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>Lenten Teaching in War Time</b>: By the Rev. <span class="smcap">J. H. -Williams</span>, M.A., Author of "Christmas Peace in War Time," -"Lenten Thoughts in War Time," etc. Crown 8vo. Cloth, 2s. 6d. net.</p> -<div class="small"> -<p>These Addresses are eminently practicable. The effects of the War on -the earthly life are closely followed as illustrations of what takes place in the -Spiritual life. Thus, a comparison is drawn between the present enforced -abstinence occasioned by the War and the Church's command to self-denial -during Lent.</p> - -<p>They contain many new thoughts, and the subjects dealt with are treated -in new ways. The subjects chosen for Ash Wednesday, the Sundays in Lent, -Good Friday, Easter Eve and Easter Day, are singularly appropriate, viz.: -"Self-Denial," "Conflict," "Help," "Perseverance," "Relief," "Sacrifice." -"Triumph," "Suffering," "The Body of Jesus," "The Conqueror of the -Grave."</p> -<p>Many of the thoughts are illustrated by similes and anecdotes very touching -and appropriate.</p> - -<p>It will be difficult to find Lenten Sermons better suited to country congregations -and to others who appreciate plain teaching.</p> - -<p>They are likely to prove the more palatable because some reference to the -War is contained in each (postage 2d.).</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - - -<p class="hang"><b>Fruits of the Passion</b>: A Daily Watch with Jesus through -the Mysteries of His Sorrow unto the Joy of His Resurrection. -By <span class="smcap">Hilda Parham</span>. Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. net (postage 3d.).</p> -<div class="small"> -<p>A work of beauty, ability and intense earnestness. It is full of beautiful -thoughts, and presents a new way of regarding the Season of Lent. There -are no "drybones" in this work. It is therefore interesting as well as -devotional. It supplies a very excellent and necessary meditation on our -want of any real sense of sin. It also presents excellent teaching in the -sinfulness of little sins.</p> - -<p>The book contains brief meditations for Lent upon the Five Sorrowful -Mysteries, impressing the Father's love as shown forth in the life of Christ -and tracing the Fruit of the Holy Spirit in the Passion.</p> - -<p>There is one main thought throughout each week (with illustrative poem). -In simple devotional tone <i>each day</i> strikes its clear note of Catholic teaching. -The Publishers wish to draw very special attention to this beautiful book.</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>Life in Christ</b>, or What It Is to be a Christian: By the -<span class="smcap">Rev. Canon Keymer</span>, Missioner in the Diocese of Southwell, -and formerly Rector of Headon, Notts. Author of "Salvation in -Christ Jesus," "The Holy Eucharist in Typeland Shadow," etc. -Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. net (postage 3d.).</p> -<div class="small"> -<p>The Author of this book was for many years engaged in preaching Missions, -and in giving Courses of Instructions. The teachings then given have been -arranged and connected under the general heading of "Life in Christ."</p> - -<p>The book will be specially useful to those who desire to have, or to give to -others, consecutive and plain teaching.</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>At God's Gate</b>: By the Venerable <span class="smcap">John Wakeford</span>, B.D., -Precentor of Lincoln. Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. net (postage 3d.).</p> -<div class="small"> - -<p>A Series of Addresses suitable for "A Retreat," "A Quiet Day," or for -private reading with many entirely new thoughts and the expressions of -thought. The book is written with marked ability and can be thoroughly -recommended.</p> - -<p>It contains eight chapters suggesting thought, and stimulating the praise -and worship of God. In these days of emotion and spiritual disquiet it is -a wholesome thing to be drawn to think about the relation of body and -spirit in the harmony of the life of grace. The mistaken distinctions of -natural and spiritual are here put away, and man is shown in his common -life as the Child of God, intent upon doing his Father's business.</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>Triplicates of Holy Writ</b>: By the Rev. <span class="smcap">J. H. Williams</span>, M.A. -Author of "Christmas Peace in War Time," "Lenten Thoughts in -War Time," etc. Crown 8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d. net (postage 2d.).</p> -<div class="small"> -<p>This book contains fine Addresses for the Sundays in Lent, Good Friday -and Easter Day applicable to the War.</p> - -<p>The Publishers cannot do better than give the chapter headings of the -book which is written in this popular writer's best vein:</p> - -<p><i>Ash Wednesday</i>: The Three Primary Duties—Prayer, Fasting and Alms-giving. -<i>Lent I.</i>: The Three Temptations. <i>Lent II.</i>: The Three Favoured -Disciples. <i>Lent III.</i>: The Three Hebrew Martyrs. <i>Refreshment Sunday</i>: -The Three Witnesses. <i>Passion Sunday</i>: The Three-One God. <i>Palm -Sunday</i>: The Three Burdens. <i>Good Friday</i>: The Three Crosses. <i>Easter -Sunday</i>: The Threefold Benediction.</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>Some Penitents of Scripture</b>: By the late Rev. <span class="smcap">G. A. -Cobbold</span>. Author of "Tempted Like as We are." Crown 8vo, -cloth, 3s. (postage 3d.).</p> -<div class="small"> - -<p>This book, showing as it does various aspects of that wide subject, -"Repentance," should prove especially useful to the Clergy during the -Season of Lent.</p> - -<p>The first address is a powerful appeal and a clear setting forth of the -meaning of a true repentance.</p> - -<p>In the other six addresses the author dwells in a very original and practical -way on various notable repentances recorded in Holy Scripture.</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>Piety and Power</b>: By the Rev. <span class="smcap">H. Congreve Horne</span>, Author -of "The Mind of Christ crucified." Crown 8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d. net.</p> -<div class="small"> -<p>An exposition of "My Duty towards God," as defined in the Catechism, -and of the Eucharist as the means whereby we are empowered to perform that -duty.</p> - -<p>A contribution towards the wider appreciation of the Holy Eucharist as -the grand corporate act of redeemed humanity, bending in lowly homage -before the Sovereign Ruler of the Universe and Father of all mankind.</p> - -<p>Contents: Introduction—Faith, Fear and Love—Worship and Thanksgiving—Trustfulness -and Prayer—God's Holy Name and Word—True -Service—An Epilogue for Holy Week.</p> - -<p>Each chapter is divided into six sections. Those with the four which form -the Introduction will provide a short reading for each week day of Lent. -The Epilogue for Holy Week reviews the leading ideas of the book by means -of outline Meditations on one of the events of each day. (Postage 2d.).</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>The Language of the Cross</b>: By the Rev. <span class="smcap">J. H. Williams</span>, M.A. -Author of "Christmas Peace in War Time," "Lenten Thoughts in -War Time," etc. Crown 8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d. net (postage 2d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>This excellent book contains plain addresses written on new lines of -thought, on "The Seven Last Words."</p> - -<p>They have copious reference to the War and are likely to prove useful for -the Three Hours' Service, or as Addresses during Lent and Passion.</p> - -<p>The subjects include: "The Word of Intercession," "The Word of Kingly -Majesty," "The Word of Filial Affection," "The Word of Desertion," "The -Word of Agonized Humanity," "The Word of Victory," "The Word of -Death."</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>God's Love and Man's Perplexity</b>: By the Rev. <span class="smcap">A. V. -Magee</span>, Vicar of St. Mark's, Hamilton Terrace. Author of "The -Message of the Guest Chamber" (3rd edition), etc. Crown 8vo, -cloth, 3s. net (postage 3d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>This book, which deals with various aspects of the love of God, will be -specially useful for Retreats and Quiet Days, or for courses of Sermons. It -is also a message of Hope in war time, for all who feel unable to reconcile the -love of God with the horrors of war.</p> - -<p>The chapters deal with "The Prodigality of Love," "The Claim and -Response of Love," "The Quality of Divine Love," "The Joy of Love," -"The Timeliness of Love," "The Tardiness of Love, the Power and Patience -of Love," "Love's Reward of Obedience," "Love's Perplexity."</p> - -<p>It is excellent in every way, and can be thoroughly recommended.</p> - -<p>Her Majesty the Queen has been graciously pleased to say that she will -be pleased to accept a copy of this book on publication.</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>Prayer the Sign-Post of Victory</b>: Addresses written for -January 6th, 1918, but eminently suitable for general use. By -the <span class="smcap">Rev. Canon C. Ll. Ivens</span>, <span class="smcap">H. Congreve Horne</span> and <span class="smcap">J. H. -Williams</span>. 2s. 6d. net.</p><div class="small"> - -<p>This book contains five addresses, the chapter headings being: "A Time -Call to Prayer and Thanksgiving," "The King's Command," "Prayerfulness," -"Clearsightedness," "What the Crib reveals in Time of War," and an -"Appendix of Prayers."</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>Religion and Reconstruction.</b> Cloth, crown 8vo., 3s. 6d. -net (postage 3d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>If the War has taught us anything at all, it has most certainly taught us -that many of our national institutions and many phases of our social life -need urgent reform. Men's minds are turning towards reconstruction. -The whole fabric of Church and State is quickly coming under the ken of -an impatient public, and there is a danger that they will be guided more -by the heart than the head. Problems of Reconstruction call for the consideration -of men of stability and high character. As the Church's contribution -to this momentous discussion, the forthcoming book on "<span class="smcap">Religion -and Reconstruction</span>" is one that everybody will find extremely valuable.</p> - -<p>It has been written by:</p> - -<p> -The <span class="smcap">Rt. Rev. C. J. Ridgeway</span>, D.D., Bishop of Chichester.<br /> -The <span class="smcap">Rt. Rev. J. A. Kempthorne</span>, D.D., Bishop of Lichfield.<br /> -The <span class="smcap">Rt. Rev. B. Pollock</span>, C.V.O., D.D., Bishop of Norwich.<br /> -The <span class="smcap">Rt. Rev. W. W. Perrin</span>, D.D., M.A., Bishop of Willesden.<br /> -The <span class="smcap">Rt. Rev. J. E. C. Welldon</span>, D.D., Dean of Manchester.<br /> -The <span class="smcap">Very Rev. W. M. Ede</span>, D.D., M.A., Dean of Worcester.<br /> -The <span class="smcap">Rt. Rev. G. H. Frodsham</span>, D.D., Canon of Gloucester.<br /> -The <span class="smcap">Hon.</span> and <span class="smcap">Rev. Canon James Adderley</span>, M.A.<br /> -The <span class="smcap">Ven. John Wakeford</span>, Precentor of Lincoln, B.D.<br /> -<span class="smcap">Monsignor Poock</span>, D.D.<br /> -The <span class="smcap">Rev. W. E. Orchard</span>, D.D. (Presbyterian).<br /> -The <span class="smcap">Rev. F. B. Meyer</span>, B.A., D.D. (Baptist).<br /> -<span class="smcap">F. C. Spurr</span> (Baptist).<br /> -</p> - -<p>leaders of religious thought, who are something more than students of social -questions.</p> - -<p>The book covers a very wide field, from questions of Education and -Imperial Politics to those of Family and Domestic Interest. It is the book -every parish priest, in fact every minister of religion, should read and discuss -with his parishioners and adult classes.</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>Faith and the War</b>: By <span class="smcap">Arthur Machen</span>, Author of "The -Bowmen: and other Legends of the War." Crown 8vo, cloth, -2s. 6d. net (postage 2d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>This very ably written book contains excellent doctrine which ought to -prove helpful to any Christian of any religious persuasion. The errors of -Infidelity and the absurdities of Spiritualism are exposed in a courteous -manner. The subjects include: "The Contradictions of Life," "Faith," "The -Freethinker," "The Religion of the Plain Man," etc.</p> - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>The Round of the Church's Clock</b>: By the Rev. <span class="smcap">John -Sinker</span>, Vicar of Lytham, and Rural Dean of the Fylde. Author of -"Into the Church's Service," "The Prayer Book in the Pulpit," -"The War; Its Deeds and Lessons," etc. With an introduction -by the Right Rev. G. H. S. Walpole, D.D., Lord Bishop of Edinburgh. -Recently published. Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. 6d. net (postage 4d).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>An entirely new series of Addresses, including one Sermon for each of the -Church's Seasons from Advent to Trinity.</p> - -<p>These addresses are popular in style, and abound in illustrations and other -matter calculated to arrest and hold the attention of any congregation. -Messrs. Skeffington consider them among the very best they have ever -published.</p> - -<p><b>Dr. Walpole, Bishop of Edinburgh</b>, writes: "I have no hesitation -in commending these simple addresses to the Clergy, and all those who have -the responsibility of expounding the teaching of the Church's seasons. 'The -Round of the Church's Clock' contains not only clear and definite teaching, -but it also abounds in stories, poems, experiences and analogies, which not -only enable the listener to understand what is preached, but to be interested. -While Mr. Sinker never belittles the sacredness of the high subjects he treats, -he makes them easily understood."</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>God and His Children</b>: By the Rev. <span class="smcap">F. W. Worsey</span>, M.A., -Vicar of Bodenham. Author of "Praying Always," "Under the -War Cloud," "War and the Easter Hope," etc. Just out. -Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. 6d. net (postage 4d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>An entirely new series of simple practical Sermons, including: Six for -Lent on The Child of God, three for Good Friday and Easter, four for Advent -on the Godhead, three for Christmas and New Year on the Divine Son, and -two for Epiphany.</p> - -<p>It will be seen that this new volume provides a complete course of preaching -from Advent to Easter, and will be found in all respects equal to its -author's previous volumes.</p> -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="center">SIXTH IMPRESSION OF THIS REMARKABLE BOOK, WITH AN -ENTIRELY NEW CHAPTER.</p> - - - -<p class="hang"><b>Prophecy and the War:</b> By the Rev. <span class="smcap">E. J. Nurse</span>, Rector -of Windermere. Price 3s. net (postage 2½d.).</p> -<div class="small"> - -<p>Seven Remarkable Prophecies on the War. This volume, which has -proved so unusually striking and interesting, includes The Divine Potter -Moulding the Nations—The Return of the Jews to Palestine—The Four -World-Empires foretold by Daniel—The Downfall of the Turkish Empire—The -Desolation and Restoration of Jerusalem—The Second Coming—The -Millennium. Also an entirely New Chapter, entitled, "Armageddon; or, -The Coming of Antichrist."</p> - -</div> -<hr class="full" /> - -<p class="hang"><b>Tennyson's "In Memoriam:"</b> Its Message to the Bereaved -and Sorrowful. By the Rev. <span class="smcap">T. A. Moxon</span>, M.A., Editor of "St. -Chrysostom, on the Priesthood," etc. Assistant Master of Shrewsbury -School, formerly Vicar and Rural Dean of Alfreton. Crown -8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d. net (postage 2½d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>Six Addresses on the subject of Tennyson's Poem in relation to the present -War. The "In Memoriam" is a record of the poet's gradual struggle from -despair to faith, after the blow of the sudden death of his friend, A. H. -Hallam. These addresses are specially composed to help the bereaved and -sorrowful; they deal with the problems of Suffering, Death, Communion with -the Departed, Faith and Hope, and the Message of Christ, as expressed by the -late Lord Tennyson. This volume may be given to the bereaved; it may -also be found useful for preachers, and those who minister to the sorrowful.</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>Our Lenten Warfare</b>: For Lent. By the Rev. <span class="smcap">H. L. -Goudge</span>, D.D., Canon of Ely, with Special Foreword by the Bishop -of London. Crown 8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d. net (postage 4d.). Third -Impression.</p><div class="small"> - -<p>Nine entirely new Sermons for Ash Wednesday, the Six Sundays in Lent, -Good Friday and Easter Day. These most valuable and specially written -Addresses deal with the Lenten Warfare of the Soul against Sin, in connection -with the lessons of the Great War.</p> - -<p><b>The Bishop of London</b> says: "This excellent little book will commend -itself by its own merit. The whole idea of the new Christian soldier as we -understand him in the light of the war is so clearly worked out, without one -superfluous word, that 'he who runs may read.' If I may, however, pick out -one chapter out of the rest, I would choose that on 'The New Army.' The -teaching of this chapter is VITAL."</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>The Fellowship of the Holy Eucharist</b>: For Lent. By -the Rev. <span class="smcap">G. Lacey May</span>, M.A., Author of "What is The National -Mission?" Crown 8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d. net (postage 3d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>Forty entirely new Devotional Readings on the Sacrament of Love, specially -suitable for the Forty Days of Lent, and most valuable in connection with -the recent Mission Preaching and Teaching on the Subject. Among the -subjects are: Fellowship with Our Lord—with The Holy Spirit—with The -Angels—with Our Fellow-men—with The Suffering—with The Departed—with -Nature. Full of material for Eucharistic Sermons.</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>The Love of our Lord</b>: By the Rev. <span class="smcap">John Beresford-Peirse</span>, -with Preface by the Bishop of Bloemfontein. Crown 8vo, -cloth, 2s. 6d. net (postage 4d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>An entirely new Set of Addresses to Boys and Young Men, which will be -found invaluable for Teaching and for Mission Work. Among the twenty-one -subjects are Prayer, Thanksgiving, Confirmation, The Holy Eucharist, -Faith, Hope, Love, Service, Friendship, Purity, etc.</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>Christ's Message in Times of Crisis</b>: By the Rev. <span class="smcap">E. C. -Dewick</span>, some time Vice-Principal of St. Aidan's, Birkenhead -Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. 6d. net (postage 5d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>Twenty Sermons originally preached at St. Aidan's College. A singularly -interesting set of Addresses, twelve of which are on subjects connected with -<span class="smcap">THE WAR</span>. They will be found very useful and valuable at the present time.</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>Short Village Homilies</b>: By the Rev. <span class="smcap">F. L. H. Millard</span>, -M.A., Vicar of St. Aidan's, Carlisle. Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. 6d. net -(postage 5d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>A new Series of short and simple Sermons, specially adapted during these -times for Villages and Evening Addresses in large towns. They include Six -Sundays in Lent, Mourners and Bereaved, a Memorial Sermon, and several -specially for use during War.</p> - -<p>N.B.—These Sermons are prepared to give practical help until Trinity. -The volume includes special Sermons on the War; To Mourners; -Memorial Sermon; a complete course for Lent; also Good Friday, Easter, -etc., etc. They are thoroughly interesting, practical sermons of a Mission -type for villagers and for evening services in large towns.</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>In the Hand of God</b>: By <span class="smcap">Gertrude Hollis</span>. 2s. 6d. net. -(postage 2d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>In Memory of the Departed. This new and beautiful little volume contains -thirty Short Chapters, full of comfort and hope for the Bereaved in this War. -There is a space for the names of the Departed, and the Meditations on -Paradise and the Resurrection are full of consolation.</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>Praying Always (Eph. vi.—18). Ash Wednesday to -Easter in War Time</b>: By the Rev. <span class="smcap">F. W. Worsey</span>, Vicar -of Bodenham, Author of "Under the War Cloud," Nine Sermons, -etc. Crown 8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d. net (postage 3d.). Published 1916.</p><div class="small"> - -<p>Nine Plain Sermons for Ash Wednesday, each Sunday in Lent, Good -Friday, and Easter Day. These Sermons deal largely with Lenten Prayer -during the War: "The Call—The Object—The Difficulties, The Effect of -Prayer—The Prayers from the Cross—The Easter Triumph of Prayer." -<b>The Church Times</b> said of Mr. Worsey's former volume: "We should -like to think that in every Country Church the War has found Parish Priests -ready to give such admirable counsel to their people."</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>The Discipline of War</b>: For Lent. By the Rev. Canon <span class="smcap">J. -Hasloch Potter</span>, M.A. 2s. net (postage 2d.). Second Impression. -Published 1915.</p><div class="small"> - -<p>Nine Addresses, including Ash Wednesday, the Six Sundays in Lent, -Good Friday and Easter Day.</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>Lenten Thoughts in War Time</b>: By the Rev. <span class="smcap">J. H. Williams</span>, -M.A., Author of "Village Sermons." Crown 8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d. -net (postage 4d.). Published 1916.</p><div class="small"> - -<p>Nine Plain Addresses, specially written for the Lenten Season in connection -with the War. They include Sermons for Ash Wednesday, the six -Sundays in Lent, Good Friday, and Easter Day. These addresses embrace -the duties which we owe to God, to ourselves, to the nation, and to the -Church.</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>The Greatest War</b>: For Lent. By the Rev. <span class="smcap">A. C. Buckell</span>, -of St. Saviour's, Ealing. Fcap. 8vo, cloth, 2s. net (postage 2d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>This most interesting course of Six Lent Sermons will be found valuable -at the present time. Among the subjects most strikingly treated are: The -War—Its Author—Its Cause—The Equipment—The Trial—The End—and -the Glory of the War.</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>The Prayer of the Lord and the Lord of the Prayer</b>: -For Lent. By the Rev. <span class="smcap">T. A. Sedgwick</span>, M.A. Crown 8vo, cloth, -2s. 6d. net (postage 4d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>Six Addresses on the Lord's Prayer, and also a complete Set of Addresses -on the Seven Last Words. A striking volume for Lent and Holy Week.</p> - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>The World's Destiny</b>: By a <span class="smcap">Layman</span>. Crown 8vo, cloth, -2s. 6d. net (postage 4d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>A challenge by a Layman to the Clergy of the Church of England. The -writer deals with the question of Our Lord's Return. In a catholic spirit, -he asks whether the clergy are not seriously neglecting an important part of -Catholic Truth in failing to teach the literal fulfilment of prophecy. The -book is scholarly and arresting; the arguments are marshalled clearly -and with legal fairness and acumen; the challenge is one which demands -attention and an answer.</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>With the C.L.B. Battalion in France</b>: By the Rev. <span class="smcap">James -Duncan</span>, Chaplain to the 16th K.R.R. (C.L.B.). With Frontispiece -and a most interesting Preface by the Rev. <span class="smcap">Edgar Rogers</span>. -Cloth, 2s. 6d. net (postage 4d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>This intensely interesting book gives an account of the doings of the -Battalion raised from the Church Lads' Brigade. Among the vivid and -striking chapters are Going to the Front—In France—In Billets—In the -Firing Line—The Trenches—The Red Harvest of War, etc.</p> - -<hr class="full" /> -<p class="center"><span class="smcap">To meet the needs of the time New and Cheap Editions have been -issued of the following Six valuable and interesting volumes.</span></p> - - -</div> - -<p class="hang"><b>1.</b> <b>Mission Preaching for a Year</b>: 86 Original Mission -Sermons. Two Vols. Crown 8vo, cloth, 10s. net (postage 7d.) The -whole work probably constitutes the most complete Manual of -Mission Preaching ever published.</p> - -<div class="small"> -<blockquote> -<p class= "hang"><span class="smcap">Vol. I.</span>, containing forty-one Sermons, from Advent to Whit Sunday, -separately. 5s. net (postage 5d.).</p> - -<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Vol. II.</span>, containing forty-five Sermons, for all the Sundays in Trinity -and many occasional (<i>e.g.</i>, All Saints—Holy Communion—Sunday -Observance—Opening of an Organ—Harvest—Flower Service—Service -for Men—Service for Women—Missions—Temperance—Funeral—Social -Clubs—Empire Sermon, etc.), separately. 5s. net -(postage 5d.).</p></blockquote> - -<p>These Sermons are by the most practical and experienced Mission Preachers -of the day, including amongst many others the Archbishop of York, Bishops -of London, Manchester, Chichester, Birmingham, Bishop Ingham, Deans of -Bristol and Bangor, Canons Hay, Aitken, Atherton, Barnett, Body, Scott -Holland, Lester, Archdeacons Sinclair, Madden and Taylor, The Revs. W. -Black, F. M. Blakiston, H. J. Wilmot-Buxton, Robert Catterall, W. H. Hunt, -A. V. Magee, A. H. Stanton, P. N. Waggett, John Wakeford, Paul Bull, A. J. -Waldron, Cyril Bickersteth, etc., etc.</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>2.</b> <b>The Sunday Round</b>: By the Rev. <span class="smcap">S. Baring-Gould</span>, M.A., -Author of "Village Preaching." Two Vols. Crown 8vo, cloth, 6s. -net (postage 6d.).</p> -<div class="small"> -<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Vol. I.</span>, Advent to Fifth after Easter. 3s. net (postage 5d.).</p> - -<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Vol. II.</span>, Ascensiontide to the end of Trinity, etc. 3s. net (postage 5d.).</p> - -<p>Being a Plain Village Sermon for each Sunday and some Chief Festivals -of the Christian Year, after the style and model of the same Author's first -series of "Village Preaching for a Year." Printed in Large Clear Type, and -brimful of original thoughts, ideas and illustrations, which will prove a mine -of help in the preparation of Sermons, whether written or extempore.</p> - -<p>"From beginning to end these simple, forcible and intensely practical -sermons will give pleasure and instruction. They are written with scholarly -freshness and vigour, and teem with homely illustrations appealing equally -to the educated and the honest labourer."—<i>Guardian.</i></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Note.</span>—The above series of Village Sermons forms a perfect storehouse of -Teaching, Illustration, and Anecdote, for the Sundays of the whole Year -and will be found invaluable to the Preacher in Country Towns and Villages.</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>3.</b> <b>The Church's Lessons for the Christian Year</b>: By -the Rev. Dr. <span class="smcap">A. G. Mortimer</span>. Two Volumes. Crown 8vo, cloth, -9s. net (postage 7d.).</p> - -<div class="small"> -<blockquote> -<p><span class="smcap">Vol. I.</span>, Advent to Fifth Sunday after Easter (60 Sermons, being two -sermons for every Sunday) separately. 4s. 6d. net (postage 5d.).</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Vol. II.</span>, Ascension Day to Advent. 4s. 6d. net (postage 5d.). -</p></blockquote> - -<p>Sixty Sermons for the Sundays and Chief Holy Days, on Texts from the -OLD Testament Lessons, and Sixty Sermons on Texts from the NEW -Testament, appropriate to the occasion, thus forming a complete Year's -Sermons, 120 in number, for Mattins and Evensong.</p> - -<p><b>The Church Times</b> says: "We like these Sermons very much. They -are full of wholesome thought and teaching, and very practical. Quite as -good, spiritual and suggestive, as his 'Helps to Meditation.'"</p> - -<p><b>The Guardian</b> says: "We do not often notice a volume of Sermons we -can praise with so few reservations."</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>4.</b> <b>Sorrow, Hope and Prayer</b>: By the Rev. Dr. <span class="smcap">A. G. -Mortimer</span>. THIRD THOUSAND. Crown 8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d. net -(postage 4d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>This beautiful book forms a companion volume to the same Author's most -popular work, "It Ringeth to Evensong." It will be found a great help -and comfort to the bereaved, and to those in sorrow and suffering.</p> - -<p>N.B.—An edition of this book, most handsomely bound in rich leather, -with rounded corners and gold over red edges, lettered in gold, forming a -really beautiful Gift-book. 7s. 6d. net (postage 5d.).</p> - -<p>"Many books exist with similar aim, but this seems exactly what is -wanted."—<i>Church Times.</i></p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>5.</b> <b>Bible Object-Lessons</b>: By the late Rev. <span class="smcap">H. J. Wilmot-Buxton</span>, -M.A. Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. 6d. net (postage 5d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>Thirty Plain Sermons, including Four for Advent, Six for Lent, Christmas, -Easter, etc., etc., and many General Sermons.</p> - -<p>"These Sermons have sound doctrine, copious illustrations, and excellent -moral teaching. They are particularly suited for Village Congregations."—<i>Church -Times.</i></p> - -<p>"These Sermons on divine object-lessons are justly published, for they are -infused with a spirit of sensible as well as devotional churchmanship, with -simple practical teaching. Mr. Buxton is a recognized master of the simple -and devotional."—<i>Guardian.</i></p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>6.</b> <b>Till the Night is Gone</b>: By the late Rev. <span class="smcap">J. B. C. Murphy</span>. -SECOND IMPRESSION. Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. 6d. net (postage 5d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>A volume of Thirty Sermons, including Four for Advent, Christmas, Six -for Lent, Good Friday, Easter, and many General Sermons.</p> - -<p class="center">OPINIONS OF MR. MURPHY'S SERMONS.</p> - -<p>"Sermons of a very straightforward and forcible kind, much wanted in the -present day."—<i>National Church.</i></p> - -<p><b>A Rector in the Midlands</b> writes: "<i>These are perfect Sermons for -Villagers</i>, and calculated to do an enormous amount of good. A congregation -that listens to such sermons is to be envied indeed."</p> - -<p>"Can be heartily praised. Never uninstructive and never dull. The -sermons have force, directness, actuality, with simplicity of style. Full of -brightness and vivacity. Nobody could go to sleep where such sermons are -delivered."—<i>Guardian.</i></p> - -<hr class="full" /> -<p class="center">TWO VOLUMES OF SERMONS ON HYMNS.</p></div> - - -<p class="hang"><b>Popular Hymns: their Authors and Teachers</b>: By -the late <span class="smcap">Canon Duncan</span>, Vicar of St. Stephen's, Newcastle-on-Tyne. -CHEAP Edition. Crown 8vo, cloth, 4s. 6d. net (postage 5d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>A Series of thirty-six Sermons on popular hymns. Most attractive and -instructive Sermons.</p> - -<p>"We can bear very strong personal testimony to the great delight and -usefulness of Canon Duncan's beautiful and impressive work."—<i>Record.</i></p> - -<p>"A deeply interesting and helpful book."—<i>Church Family Newspaper.</i></p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>Hymns and their Singers</b>: By the late Rev. <span class="smcap">M. H. James</span>, -LL.D., Vicar of St. Thomas', Hull. SECOND IMPRESSION. -Crown 8vo, cloth, 4s. 6d. net (postage 4d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>Twenty-one Sermons on popular Hymns. These very original Sermons -deal not only with the meaning of the words, but are full of interesting information -as to the Authorship and History of the various Hymns.</p> - -<p><b>The Church of Ireland Gazette</b> says: "The writer is to be congratulated. -There are twenty-one extremely interesting and attractive -Sermons."</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>On the Way Home</b>: By the Rev. <span class="smcap">W. H. Jones</span>. THIRD -IMPRESSION. Crown 8vo, cloth, 4s. 6d. net (postage 4d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>Sixty Sermons for Life's Travellers, for all the Sundays and Chief Holy -Days in the Christian Year.</p> - -<p>"We believe that everyone on reading these short Addresses will agree -with us in the high opinion we have formed of them. They are replete -with anecdotes drawn from life, and such as are calculated to fix the attention -of homely folk for whom especially they are intended. Written as they are -by a Priest of the Diocese of Lincoln, they breathe much of that spirit of -love which one has learned to associate with that favoured See."—<i>Church -Times.</i></p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>The Country Pulpit</b>: By the Rev. <span class="smcap">J. A. Craigie</span>, M.A., Vicar -of Otterford. Crown 8vo, cloth, 4s. 6d. net (postage 4d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>This excellent volume of Village Sermons includes Advent, Christmas, -Epiphany, and the Sundays from Septuagesima to Easter, besides General -Sermons.</p> - -<p>"We feel convinced that these sermons were listened to, and that their -author will be heard again."—<i>National Church.</i></p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>The Good Shepherd</b>: The last book by the late Rev. Canon -<span class="smcap">George Body</span>. SECOND IMPRESSION. Cloth, boards, 2s. 6d. -net (postage 3d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>A Series of Meditations. (The Pastorate of Jesus—The Fold—Personal -Knowledge of Jesus—Guidance—Sustenance—Healing—Paradise, etc.).</p> -<hr class="full" /> - -<p class="center">BOOKS FOR THE FORTY DAYS OF LENT</p> -</div> - -<p class="hang"><b>New and Contrite Hearts</b>: By the late Rev. <span class="smcap">H. J. Wilmot-Buxton</span>, -M.A. EIGHTH IMPRESSION. Crown 8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d. -net (postage 3d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>Forty brief Meditations, one for every day in Lent, from Ash Wednesday -to Easter Eve. A new and cheaper Edition of these most popular Readings, -which include a Set of Seven Short Addresses on the Seven Last Words.</p> - -<p>"Just such readings as will help the devout soul to realize the blessing -which follows a well observed Lent."—<i>Church Family Newspaper.</i></p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>Lenten Lights and Shadows</b>: By the Author of "The Six -Maries," etc. Fcap. 8vo, cloth, bevelled boards, 2s. 6d. net -(postage 3d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>Meditations for the Forty Days of Lent, with additional readings for -the Sundays in Lent and Easter Day. This book of Short and Beautiful -Readings for the days of Lent is strongly recommended.</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>The Last Discourses of Our Lord</b>: By the Rev. <span class="smcap">Dr. A. G. -Mortimer</span>. NEW AND CHEAPER EDITION. THIRD IMPRESSION. -Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. 6d. net (postage 5d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>In Forty Addresses or Readings for the Forty Days of Lent.</p> - -<p>A New Edition of this valuable book, which is now published at 3s. 6d. -net instead of 5s. net.</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>The Halo of Life</b>: By Rev. <span class="smcap">Harry Wilson</span>, formerly Vicar of -St. Augustine's, Stepney. ELEVENTH IMPRESSION. Cloth, -1s. 6d. net (postage 2d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>Forty Little Readings on Humility, specially suitable for the Forty Days -of Lent. Suited for general distribution.</p> - -<p>"This is a valuable little book, which we most highly recommend. How -many thousand families might be blessed by this invaluable work if its noble -rules were applied to daily life."—<i>Church Review.</i></p> - -<hr class="full" /> -<p class="center">BY THE SAME AUTHOR.</p> - -</div> - -<p class="hang"><b>Catholic Teaching</b>; or, Our Life and His Love. A Series -of Fifty-six Simple Instructions in the Christian Life. FOURTEENTH -IMPRESSION. Cloth, 2s. net (postage 2d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p><b>The Church Review</b> says: "Has the true ring of Catholic Teaching, -persuasively and eloquently put in the plainest English. This valuable little -book is as good as any we can recommend."</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>A Treasury of Meditation</b>, or Suggestions, as Aids to those -Who Desire to Lead a Devout Life. By the <span class="smcap">Rev. Canon Knox -Little</span>. THIRTEENTH IMPRESSION. Printed throughout in -red and black, on specially made paper, and bound in crimson -cloth, bevelled boards, with burnished red edges, 4s. 6d. net -(postage 4d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>A Manual of brief Meditations on various subjects, <i>e.g.</i>, On Sin—On the -World—On Things of Ordinary Life—On Nearness to God—On the Perfect -Life—On the Life and Offices of Christ—On the Cross of Christ—On the -Holy Ghost—On Saints and Angels—On the Blessed Sacrament—On Life, -Death, and Eternity, etc.</p> - -<p>N.B.—Each one includes brief Directions, Meditation, Question, Resolve, -Prayer, Work of Christ, Verse of Hymn. This Manual is invaluable for the -whole Christian Year.</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>The Guided Life</b>; or, Life Lived under the Guidance of the -Holy Spirit. By the late Rev. <span class="smcap">Canon George Body</span>. EIGHTH -IMPRESSION. Fcap. 8vo, cloth, 1s. 6d. net (postage 1½.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>The Way of Contrition; The Way of Sanctity; The Way of Patience; -The Way of Ministry, etc.</p> - -<p>"Of very great value."—<i>Guardian.</i></p> - -<p>"Very bright, cheering, helpful, and valuable meditations."—<i>Church -Review.</i></p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>The Mystery of Suffering</b>: By Rev. <span class="smcap">S. Baring-Gould</span>. A -NEW AND CHEAP EDITION FOR LENT (the Tenth). 2s. 6d. -net (postage 4d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>A Course of Lent Lectures: 1. The Mystery of Suffering. 2. The Occasion -of Suffering. 3. The Capacity for Suffering. 4. Suffering Educative. 5. -Suffering Evidential. 6. Suffering Sacrificial.</p> - -<p>"This is the very poetry of Theology; it is a very difficult subject very -beautifully handled."—<i>Church Quarterly.</i></p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>The Mountain of Blessedness</b>: By <span class="smcap">Dr. C. J. Ridgeway</span>, -Bishop of Chichester. FIFTH IMPRESSION. Cloth, 2s. 6d. net -(postage 3d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>A Series of Plain Lent Addresses on the Beatitudes.</p> - -<hr class="full" /> -<p class="center">FOR CHILDREN'S SERVICES.</p> - -</div> - -<p class="hang"><b>The King and His Soldiers</b>: By <span class="smcap">M. E. Clements</span>, Author of -"Missionary Stories." Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. net (postage 4d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>Twenty-six Talks with Boys and Girls, from Advent to Whit Sunday. -These Addresses will be found of the greatest possible interest for Children, -and will be invaluable for Addresses in Church, in School, or for Home -Reading for the Sundays in Advent, Christmas, Epiphany, Lent, Easter, and -up to Whit Sunday. They cannot fail to seize and hold the attention of -young people.</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>The Children's Law</b>: By Rev. <span class="smcap">G. R. Oakley</span>, M.A., B.D. -2s. 6d. net (postage 4d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>Plain Talks to Children on the Commandments, the Sacramental Ordinances, -and on Rules of Life and Worship, of the greatest value in instructing and -helping the Young; for use in Church, Sunday School, or at Home.</p> - -<p><i>A strikingly beautiful little book.</i></p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>Missionary Stories of the Olden Time</b>: By <span class="smcap">Mary E. -Clements</span>. 2s. net (postage 3d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>A Series of deeply interesting Stories specially suited for Young People, full -of picturesque incidents in the Story of the Evangelization of the British -Isles. Among the contents are the Stories of St. Alban—St. Patrick—The -Boys in the Slave Market—Of Gregory and the Young Angles—The Conversion -of Kent—Sussex—Wessex, etc. A delightful book for children and -others.</p> -<hr class="full" /> - -<p class="center">TWO VOLUMES OF SERMONS TO CHILDREN.</p> - -</div> - -<p class="hang"><b>Sermons to Children</b>: First Series. By the Rev. <span class="smcap">S. Baring-Gould</span>. -THIRTEENTH IMPRESSION. 4s. 6d. net (postage 4d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>Including a set of Six on Children's Duties and Faults (Tidiness—Idleness—Wilfulness—Obedience—Perseverance—Idle -Talk, etc.), and also a set of -Four on the Seasons of the Year.</p> - -<p><b>The Church Quarterly</b> says: "These are really Sermons suited <i>for</i> -Children, alike in mode of thought, simplicity of language, and lessons conveyed, -and they are very beautiful. No mere critical description can do -justice to the charm with which spiritual and moral lessons are made to -flow (not merely are drawn) out of natural facts or objects. Stories, too, are -made use of with admirable taste, and the lessons taught are, without exception, -sound and admirable. We cannot doubt that the volume will be, and -will remain, a standard favourite."</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>Sermons to Children</b>: Second Series. Crown 8vo, cloth, 4s. 6d. -net (postage 4d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>Twenty-four Sermons, including Advent, Christmas, Lent, Easter, Whitsunday, -Trinity, and many General Sermons.</p> - -<p>The immense success of Mr. <span class="smcap">Baring-Gould's</span> former Series of Sermons to -Children, of which thirteen editions have already been sold, will make this -new volume doubly welcome.</p> - -<p><b>The Church Times</b> says: "There will be a run on this volume. The -stories are most cleverly told, and the lessons are all that they should be. -No child who reads or hears these Addresses will be left in doubt as to what -he ought to believe and do."</p> - -<hr class="full" /> -<p class="center">TWO VOLUMES OF SERMONS TO CHILDREN.</p> - -</div> - -<p class="hang"><b>Led by a Little Child</b>: (Isaiah xi. 6). By the late <span class="smcap">H. J. -Wilmot-Buxton</span>. SIXTH IMPRESSION. Crown 8vo, cloth, -3s. 6d. net (postage 4d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>A Series of Fifteen Short Addresses or Readings for Children. Among the -Subjects and Titles of the Addresses are "The Lion and the Lamb," "The -Serpent and the Dove," "Wolves," "Foxes," "The Sparrow and the -Swallow," "Eagles' Wings," "Sermons in Stones," "Four Feeble Things" -(Prov. xxx. 24), "What the Cedar Beam Saw," etc., etc.</p> - -<p>"Bright, simply-worded homilies for children, with plenty of anecdotes -and illustrations, which are not dragged in, but really do help the lesson -to be enforced. Very useful for reading aloud to children."—<i>Guardian.</i></p> - -<p>"Models of what children's sermons should be."—<i>Ecclesiastical Gazette.</i></p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>Parable Sermons for Children</b>: A Cheap Edition. Crown -8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d. net (postage 3d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>These beautiful Sermons generally begin with a Story or Parable, and -cannot fail to arrest and hold the attention of children. The original Edition -was published at 3s. 6d. It is now reduced to 2s. 6d. net.</p> - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>The Boys and Girls of the Bible</b>: By Rev. <span class="smcap">Canon J. -Hammond</span>. Two Vols., 12s. net (postage 5d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>Two Volumes of Sermons on Old and New Testament Characters.</p> - -<p> -<span class="smcap">Vol. I.</span>, Old Testament, 6s. net (postage 4d.).<br /> -<span class="smcap">Vol. II.</span>, New Testament, 6s. net (postage 4d.).<br /> -</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>The Church Catechism in Anecdote</b>: Collected and -Arranged by the late Rev. <span class="smcap">L. M. Dalton</span>, M.A. FOURTH IMPRESSION. -Cloth, 2s. 6d. net (postage 4d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>Providing one or more anecdotes illustrating each clause of the Church -Catechism, the teacher being left to apply the materials thus provided. An -endeavour has been made to find good anecdotes which have not been used -in other well-known books on the Church Catechism, and the volume cannot -fail to delight and interest the children who are being taught.</p> - -<hr class="full" /> -<p class="center">CHURCH MUSIC FOR LENT AND EASTER.</p> - -</div> - -<p class="hang"><b>The Benedicite, for Septuagesima and Lent</b>: (Shortened -Form.) Six simple chant settings, the second half of each verse -being repeated after every third verse only, thus repeating it <i>eleven</i> -instead of thirty-two times.</p><div class="small"> - -<p><span class="smcap">No. 1</span>, in D, by <span class="smcap">Martin S. Skeffington</span>. <span class="smcap">No. 2</span>, in G, by <span class="smcap">Martin S. -Skeffington</span>.—<span class="smcap">No. 3</span>, in B Flat, by <span class="smcap">Martin S. Skeffington</span>.—<span class="smcap">No. 1</span>, in -E Flat, by <span class="smcap">H. Hamilton Jefferies</span>.—<span class="smcap">No. 2</span>, in A Flat, by <span class="smcap">H. Hamilton -Jefferies</span>.—<span class="smcap">No. 3</span>, in G, by <span class="smcap">H. Hamilton Jefferies</span>.</p> - -<p>The price of each of the above, Words and Music complete, is 2d., or 25 -Copies of any one setting for 3s. net (postage 2d.). One Copy of each of -these Six Settings post free for 1s.</p> - -<hr class="full" /> -<p class="center">MUSIC BY H. HAMILTON JEFFERIES.</p> - -</div> - -<p class="hang"><b>Vesper Hymn</b>: "Part in Peace," to be sung kneeling, after -the Benediction. The Words by <span class="smcap">Sarah F. Adams</span>, author of -"Nearer, my God, to Thee," and the Music by <span class="smcap">H. Hamilton -Jefferies</span>. Complete with Music, 1d., or Twenty-five Copies for -1s. 9d. net (postage 1d.). The Words separately, price ½d., or -1s. 6d. net per 100 (postage 2d.).</p><div class="small"> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>The Morning Service in Chant Form</b> in D Major, including -Kyrie. Price 2d., or Twenty-five Copies for 3s. net (postage 4d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>A simple Service in Chant Form for Village and Parish Choirs, including -chants for the Venite, quadruple for the Te Deum (the Words printed in full), -for the Benedictus or Jubilate, and a Kyrie. A melodious and attractive -Service for congregational use.</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>The Story of the Cross</b>: A beautiful setting for Parish -Choirs, by <span class="smcap">H. Hamilton Jefferies</span>. Price 1d., or Twenty-five -Copies for 1s. 9d. net (postage 2d.). The Words separately, ½d., -or 1s. 6d. net per 100 (postage 2d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>This devotional and lovely setting, both in compass and simplicity, is perfectly -suited for Choirs in Towns or Villages.</p> - -<p class="hang"><b>A Midland Vicar writes</b>:—"I have tried nearly all the settings used, -but yours is the most tuneful of all."</p> - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>An Easter Service of Song</b>: Complete with Music. -Price 4d. The Words separately, price ½., or 3s. 6d. net per 100 -(postage 4d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>A complete Order of Service, short and simple, for Eastertide, with Hymns -and Carols. Special tunes by Sir <span class="smcap">J. F. Bridge</span>, etc.</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>The Late Canon Woodward's Children's Service Book</b>: -394th Thousand. Services, Prayers, Hymns, Litanies, Carols, etc.</p><div class="small"> - -<p>The Complete Words Edition, stitched, price 3d. net. Strong limp cloth, -6d. net. Handsome cloth boards, 8d. net. Complete Musical Edition, 3s. 6d. -net (Inland postage 5d.).</p> - -<p>Clergymen desirous of making <span class="smcap">Children's Services really popular</span> and -<span class="smcap">Thoroughly Attractive</span> both to children and their elders should send -for Specimen Copy. Post free, 3½d.</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang">VOLUMES OF SERMONS, ADDRESSES OR READINGS ESPECIALLY -SUITABLE FOR LENT AND EASTER, MANY CONTAINING -COMPLETE COURSES.</p> - -<p class="hang"><b>The Prodigal Son</b>: By Rev. <span class="smcap">A. C. Buckell</span>, M.A. of St. -Saviour's, Ealing. Fcap. 8vo, cloth, 2s. net (postage 2d.). SECOND -IMPRESSION.</p><div class="small"> - -<p>Six new and most picturesque Sermons for Lent and Easter, the various -events being vividly described in six scenes.</p> - -<p>Act I. The Two Sons. Scene. A Home.—Act II. The Far Country. -Scene. A Hotel.—Act III. The Awakening. Scene. A Pigsty.—Act IV. The -Reconciliation. Scene. A Garden.—Act V. The Feast. Scene 1. A Dining -Room. Scene 2. A Study.</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>The Men of the Passion</b>: By <span class="smcap">T. W. Crafer</span>, D.D. Author -of "The Women of the Passion." Fcap. 8vo, cloth, 2s. net -(postage 2d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>A Series of Holy Week Addresses. (The Friends—The Enemies—The -Betrayer—The Judges—The Friends in Death—The Friends after Death—The -Men of the Resurrection.) These Addresses form a complete course for -use during the Sundays in Lent or the Days of Holy Week.</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>The Women of the Passion</b>: By the Rev. <span class="smcap">T. W. Crafer</span>, D.D., -Vicar of All Saints, Cambridge. SECOND IMPRESSION. Fcap. -8vo, cloth, 2s. net (postage 2d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>Holy Week Addresses, including: "The Blessed Virgin—Mary of Bethany—The -Daughters of Jerusalem—Pilate's Wife—Mary Magdalene and her -Companions," etc.</p> - -<p>"Marked by great freshness, point, and originality of conception, and are -eminently practical. We highly commend them."—<i>Church of Ireland -Gazette.</i></p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>Some Actors in Our Lord's Passion</b>: By the Rev. <span class="smcap">H. -Lilienthal</span>. NEW AND CHEAPER EDITION. SIXTH IMPRESSION. -2s. 6d. net (postage 4d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>A Course of very beautiful and striking Lent Addresses or Readings (Judas—Peter—Caiaphas—Pontius -Pilate—Herod—Barabbas), together with two -special additional Sermons, viz.: "The Meaning of the Cross," for Good -Friday, and "Christ's Resurrection," for Easter.</p> - -<p><b>Bishop Clark</b> writes: "The characters stand before us with wondrous -vividness.... I wish that these discourses might be read in every Parish -during Lent, for they have touched me more deeply than any sermons I have -ever read. They must appeal to the young, as well as to the mature mind."</p> - -<p>"Excellent Sermons—dramatic in treatment—and well fitted to hold the -attention."—<i>Church Times.</i></p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>Lenten Preaching</b>: Lent Sermons by the Rev. <span class="smcap">Dr. A. G. -Mortimer</span>, Author of "Helps to Meditation." FOURTH IMPRESSION. -Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. 6d. net (postage 5d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>Three Courses of Sermons for Lent and Holy Week, viz.: 1st—Six Addresses -on the Sunday Epistles for Lent. 2nd—Six Sermons on the Example -of Our Lord. 3rd—Eight Addresses on the Seven Last Words.</p> - -<p>"A series of Sermons, all of which are admirable."—<i>Church Times.</i></p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>The Highway of the Holy Cross</b>: By the Author of "The -Six Maries." 1s. 6d. net (postage 2d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>The Path of Self-Surrender, The Path of Sorrow, The Path of Prayer, The -Path of Service, The Path of Suffering, The Path of Hope.</p> -<hr class="full" /> - -<p class="center">BY THE SAME AUTHOR.</p> - -</div> - -<p class="hang"><b>The Six Maries.</b> THIRD IMPRESSION. Foolscap 8vo, -Cloth, 2s. net (postage 2d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>This beautiful little book includes Six Devotional Readings, viz.: Mary -the Virgin—Mary of Bethany—Mary Magdalene—Mary the Wife of Cleophas—Mary -the Mother of James and Joses—Mary the Mother of Mark.</p> - -<p>"Tender, sympathetic and helpful."—<i>Church Family Newspaper.</i></p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>The Message of the Guest Chamber</b>; or, The Last Words -of Christ. By the Rev. A. V. <span class="smcap">Magee</span>, Vicar of St. Mark's, Hamilton -Terrace. 2s. 6d. net (postage 4d.). THIRD IMPRESSION.</p><div class="small"> - -<p>These beautiful Meditations on St. John, Chapters xiii and xiv, include -Fourteen Chapters which can be subdivided into Sections so as to provide for -their daily use during Lent.</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>The Seven Parables of the Kingdom</b>: By the Very Rev. -<span class="smcap">Provost H. Erskine Hill</span>. 2s. net (postage 2d.). SECOND -IMPRESSION.</p><div class="small"> - -<p>These most attractive Sermons are especially suitable for Lent. They -include Sermons on the Parable of the Sower, The Tares, The Mustard Seed, -The Leaven, The Hidden Treasure, The Pearl of Great Price, The Draw -Net.</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p><span class="smcap"><b>Tears</b></span>: By the Rev. <span class="smcap">J. H. Fry</span>, M.A., Vicar of Osgathorpe. -Foolscap 8vo, cloth, 2s. net (postage 2d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>Ten Sermons for Lent and Easter Day: The Tears of the Penitent Woman; -of Esau; of St. Peter; of Jesus at the Grave of Lazarus, over Jerusalem, in -Gethsemane; of Mary Magdalene at the Sepulchre; No more Tears, etc.</p> - -<p>"These Sermons possess the threefold merit of brevity, strength and -originality."—<i>Church Times.</i></p> - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>The Chain of our Sins</b>: By the late Rev. <span class="smcap">J. B. C. Murphy</span>, -M.A. FIFTH IMPRESSION. 2s. 6d. net (postage 3d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>Nine Sermons for Lent, Good Friday, and Easter Day: The Chains of -Habit, of Selfishness, of Indifference, of Pride, of Intemperance, of Worldliness, -etc. The Bands of Love.</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>The Parables of Redemption</b>: By the Very Rev. <span class="smcap">Henry -Erskine Hill</span>, M.A., Provost of the Cathedral, Aberdeen, Author -of "The Seven Parables of the Kingdom." Fcap. 8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d. -net (postage 3d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>Thirteen Sermons for Lent and Easter, including Six on the Prodigal Son, -also The Lost Sheep—The Lost Coin—The Procession to Calvary—The Three -Crosses—The Resurrection—The Groups Round Jesus.</p> - - -<p class="center">FIVE VOLUMES OF SERMONS TO MEN.</p> - -<p class="center"><small>(SOLDIERS, SAILORS, BOYS, ETC.)</small></p> - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>The Service of the King</b>: Addresses to Soldiers and Sailors. -By <span class="smcap">A. Debenham</span>. 2s. 6d. net (postage 2d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>The vivid and picturesque style of these stirring Addresses to Men will at -once arrest and keep the interest of their hearers. They include Church -Seasons, etc.</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>Plain-Spoken Sermons</b>: Rev. <span class="smcap">J. B. C. Murphy's</span> Sermons, -originally <span class="smcap">Addressed to Soldiers</span>. FOURTH IMPRESSION. -6s. net (postage 4d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>Twenty-eight Sermons—Gambling; Manliness; Sorry Jesting; Neighbourliness; -Gossip, and so on.</p> - -<p class="hang"><b>The Church Review</b> says: "Some of these Sermons are simply -magnificent."</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>Addresses to Men</b>: By the Rev. <span class="smcap">C. Ll. Ivens</span>, M.A., Hon. -Canon of Wakefield. THIRD IMPRESSION. Crown 8vo, cloth, -3s. net (postage 3d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>They include such subjects as Courtesy—The Gambling Spirit—Intemperance—"The -Training of Character"—"Life and some of its Meaning"—and -similarly practical subjects.</p> - -<p class="hang"><b>Bishop Eden</b> says: "Canon Ivens' simple, outspoken and direct -addresses, are specimens of those which he is in the habit of giving at his -well-known Men's Services. They will be found valuable both to young -clergy who are learning how to address men, and to men of all degrees -who are trying to fight Christ's battles in a world of increasingly subtle -temptations."</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>Our Ideals</b>: By the Rev. <span class="smcap">V. R. Lennard</span>. Price 3s. 6d. net -(postage 4d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>Sermons to Men, including Sermons on Instability, Cowardice, Profanity, -Ability, Concentration, Faith, Friendship, Manliness, Independence, Ambition, -etc., etc.</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>Addresses to Boys and Boy Scouts</b>: By Right Rev. <span class="smcap">G. F. -Cecil de Carteret</span>, Assistant Bishop of Jamaica. Price 2s. 6d. -net (postage 3d.).</p><div class="small"> - - -<p class="center">SKEFFINGTON'S SERMON LIBRARY.</p> - -<p class="center">Each Price 2s. 6d. net (postage 4d.).</p> - - -<p>The whole Series of Twelve Volumes can be sent carriage paid through any -bookseller, or direct from the publishers, for 31s., and they contain a complete -and varied Library of some 400 Sermons, not only for Sundays and Church -Seasons, but for very many special occasions.</p> - -<div class="hang"> - -<p>1.—<b>The Seed and the Soil.</b> By the late <span class="smcap">Rev. J. B. C. Murphy</span>.—Twenty-eight -Plain Sermons, including Four for Advent, Christmas Day, Six for -Lent, Good Friday, Easter Day, etc.</p> - -<p>2.—<b>Sermons to Children</b>; also <b>Bought with a Price</b>. By the late -<span class="smcap">Rev. H. J. Wilmot-Buxton</span>, M.A. (Two vols. in one.) Twenty-three -Sermons to Children, including Advent, Lent, Good Friday, etc., -etc. "Bought with a Price" includes Nine Sermons from Ash Wednesday -to Easter.</p> - -<p>3.—<b>Village Sermons.</b> By the late <span class="smcap">Canon R. B. D. Rawnsley</span>. Third -Series. Plain Village Sermons, including Advent, Christmas, New Year, -Epiphany, Lent, Good Friday, Easter Day, and General Sermons.</p> - -<p>4.—<b>Twenty-two Harvest Sermons by various Authors.</b></p> - -<p>5.—<b>Helps and Hindrances to the Christian Life.</b> By the late -<span class="smcap">Rev. Francis E. Paget</span> (2 vols). Vol. I. Thirty Plain Village Sermons, -including Four for Advent, Christmas, Last Sunday in the Year, New -Year, Epiphany, Septuagesima, Sexagesima, Quinquagesima, Ash -Wednesday, Six for Lent, Good Friday, Easter Day (2) etc., etc.</p> - -<p>6.—<b>Helps and Hindrances to Christian Life.</b> Vol. II. Thirty-two -Plain Village Sermons, including Trinity Sunday, Trinity-tide, Harvest, -Friendly Society Schools, etc.</p> - -<p>7.—<b>God's Heroes.</b> By the late <span class="smcap">Rev. H. J. Wilmot-Buxton</span>, M.A. A -Series of Plain Sermons, including Advent, Lent, and many General -Sermons.</p> - -<p>8.—<b>Mission Sermons.</b> (Second Series). By the late <span class="smcap">Rev. H. J. Wilmot-Buxton</span>, -M.A. Contains Advent, Christmas, End of Year, Epiphany, -Lent, Good Friday, Easter, also Harvest, Autumn, and a large number -of General Sermons.</p> - -<p>9.—<b>The Journey of the Soul.</b> By the late <span class="smcap">Rev. J. B. C. Murphy</span>. -Thirty-four Plain Sermons, including Four for Advent, Christmas, Six -for Lent, Good Friday, Easter, Ascension Day, Whitsunday, Trinity -Sunday, Schools, and many General.</p> - -<p>10.—<b>The Parson's Perplexity.</b> By the late <span class="smcap">Rev. Dr. W. J. Hardman</span>. -Sixty short, suggestive Sermons for the hard-working and hurried, -including all the Sundays and chief Holy Days of the Christian Year.</p> - -<p>11.—<b>The Lord's Song.</b> By the late <span class="smcap">Rev. H. J. Wilmot-Buxton</span>, M.A. -Twenty-two Plain Sermons on the best known and most popular Hymns, -including Lent, Easter, Whitsuntide, etc.; also Children's Services.</p> - -<p>12.—<b>Sunday Sermonettes for a Year.</b> By the late <span class="smcap">Rev. H. J. -Wilmot-Buxton</span>, M.A. Fifty-seven Short Sermons for the Church Year.</p> -</div> -<hr class="full" /> - -<p class="center">ADDRESSES ON THE SEVEN LAST WORDS.</p> - -<p class="center"><small>LEAFLET FOR DISTRIBUTION BEFORE GOOD FRIDAY</small>.</p> - -<p class="hang"><b>An Invitation to the Three Hours' Service</b>: 1/2d., or -2s. 6d. net. per 100 (postage 4d.). 150th Thousand.</p><div class="small"> - -<p>This excellent four-page leaflet is intended for wide distribution in Church -and Parish before Good Friday.</p> - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>A Form of Service for the Three Hours</b>: By the Right -<span class="smcap">Rev. C. J. Ridgeway</span>, Bishop of Chichester. ½d., or 4s. net per -100 (postage 5d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>Prayers, Hymns, Versicles, etc., for the use of the Congregation. 360th -Thousand.</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>Devotions for the Good Friday Three Hours' Service</b>: -½d., or 4s. net per 100 (postage 4d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>In connection with addresses on The Seven Last Words, Versicles, Prayers, -Suggested Hymns, etc., for the use of the Congregation at the Service.</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>The Mind of Christ Crucified</b>: By the Rev. <span class="smcap">H. Congreve -Horne</span>. Crown 8vo. cloth, 2s. 6d. net (postage 3d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>A consideration of <i>The Seven Last Words</i>, and their special significance in -time of War. These beautiful Addresses will be invaluable during the coming -Lent and Holy Week.</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>Meditations on the Seven Last Words</b>: By the Right Rev. -<span class="smcap">C. J. Ridgeway</span>, Bishop of Chichester. FOURTH IMPRESSION. -Fcap. 8vo, 2s. net (postage 2d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>A Set of Addresses for the Three Hours' Service, with Complete Forms of -Service, Prayers, Hymns, Versicles, etc.</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>Seven Times He Spake</b>: By the Rev. <span class="smcap">H. Lilienthal</span>. -Author of "Some Actors in Our Lord's Passion," "Sundays and -Seasons." 2s. net (postage 2d.). SECOND IMPRESSION.</p><div class="small"> - -<p>A Set of Addresses on the Seven Last Words. These powerful and original -Addresses will indeed be welcomed by those who know the Author's previous -book, "Some Actors in Our Lord's Passion."</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>The Seven Last Words from the Cross</b>: By the late -<span class="smcap">Rev. Canon Watson</span>. 2s. 6d. net (postage 3d.). SECOND -IMPRESSION.</p><div class="small"> - -<p>A Striking Course of Meditations for Lent, Holy Week, or Good Friday.</p> - -<p>"These sermons contain suggestive thoughts, many noble and heart-searching -utterances. <b>The Fourth and Sixth Meditations are most -striking—the latter part of the first is very terrible and heart-searching.</b>"—<i>The -Guardian.</i></p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>The Spiritual Life in the Seven Last Words</b>: By the -<span class="smcap">Rev. Dr. A. G. Mortimer</span>. 2s. net (postage 2d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>A Set of simple Addresses for Lent, and The Three Hours' Service, on -The Words from the Cross.</p> - -<p>"These plain sermons are very admirable."—<i>Churchwoman.</i></p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>The Seven Last Words</b>: By the Rev. <span class="smcap">S. Baring-Gould</span>. -2s. 6d. net (postage 3d.). EIGHTH IMPRESSION.</p><div class="small"> - -<p>Seven Plain Sermons for the Sundays in Lent, The Days of Holy Week, or -for Good Friday.</p> - -<p>"Vigorous, forcible, with illustrations plentifully but freely and wisely -introduced."—<i>Church Times.</i></p> - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>The Seven Words from the Cross</b>: By the Rev. <span class="smcap">H. E. -Burder</span>, Vicar of St. Oswald, Chester. Fcap. 8vo, cloth, 1s. 6d. -net (postage 2d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>An eminently practical set of simple Addresses on the Seven Words.</p> - -<p>"Preachers may find some freshening thought in this little volume."—<i>Church -Times.</i></p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>The Longer Lent</b>: By the Rev. <span class="smcap">Vivian R. Lennard</span>, M.A., -3s. 6d. net (postage 4d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>Fourteen Addresses from Septuagesima to Easter, including two for Easter -Day and one for St. Matthias.</p> - -<hr class="full" /> -<p class="center">BY THE SAME AUTHOR.</p> - -</div> - -<p class="hang"><b>Passiontide and Easter</b>: Thirteen Addresses, including Palm -Sunday, Holy Week, Good Friday, Eastertide and Low Sunday. -Crown 8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d. net (postage 3d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>"They are simple, direct, helpful."—<i>The Church Family Newspaper.</i></p> - -<p>"Plain, but practical and vigorously expressed, they are to be commended."—<i>The -National Church.</i></p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang">"<b>One Hour</b>" (St. Matt. xxvi. 40). <span class="smcap">A Short Service for Good -Friday</span>, with Hymns, Versicles, Psalm and Prayers, complete for -the use of the Congregation. ½d., or 2s. 6d. net per 100 (postage 4d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>This Service, when a Short Address is given, will occupy <span class="smcap">ONE HOUR</span>, and -may be used as an alternative to the Three Hours' Service where the latter -for various reasons cannot be adopted. Or it will form an early or late -service <i>in addition</i> to that of the Three Hours', for those who are unable to -attend the longer Office. FOR GOOD FRIDAY.</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>Good Friday Addresses</b>: By <span class="smcap">Dr. C. J. Ridgeway</span>, Bishop of -Chichester; <span class="smcap">The Very Rev. Provost Henry Erskine Hill</span>; -the <span class="smcap">Rev. Canon C. Ll. Ivens</span>, and the <span class="smcap">Rev. C. E. Newman</span>. Crown -8vo, cloth, 2s. net (postage 2d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>These Four Short Addresses are specially written either for use with the -above Service, or at any other Good Friday Service; two of them include very -brief, but complete Meditations on the Seven Last Words, and will be invaluable -for Holy Week and Good Friday.</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>Easter Offerings.</b> To Help the Clergy. By <span class="smcap">Dr. C. J. Ridgeway</span>, -Bishop of Chichester. ½d.; 2s. net per 100 (postage 4d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>A Four-page Leaflet clearly explaining their character, antiquity, authority, -value and duty; to be placed in the seats before Easter. Commended to -Churchwardens and Clergy by the <span class="smcap">Archbishop of Canterbury</span>.</p> - -<hr class="full" /> -<p class="center">TWO NEW CHEAP EDITIONS.</p> - -</div> - -<p class="hang"><b>1.</b> <b>The Old Road</b>: By Rev. <span class="smcap">H. J. Wilmot-Buxton</span>. Originally -5s. each. Now 3s. 6d. net each (postage 4d.). SECOND IMPRESSION.</p><div class="small"> - -<p>Thirty Plain Sermons, including Six for Lent—Good Friday—Easter—Whitsuntide—and -many General Sermons.</p> - -<p>"Any congregation would welcome them.... We have read them with -interest, and the conviction that their power lies in their plain outspokenness."—<i>Church -of Ireland Gazette.</i></p> - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>2.</b> <b>Stories and Teaching on the Mattins and Evensong</b>: -By <span class="smcap">Dr. J. W. Hardman</span>. 3s. 6d. net (postage 4d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>A book to make those Services plain to the old and interesting to the -young. This book contains an enormous amount of material for the Preacher, -the Teacher, and the Catechist.</p> - -<p>"It teems with a rich fund of pithy and pointed illustrations and anecdotes."—<i>National -Church.</i></p> - -<p>"A capital book for Catechists."—<i>Church Times.</i></p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>Village Preaching for a Year</b>: Sermons by the Rev. <span class="smcap">S. -Baring-Gould</span>. First Series. Sixty-five specially written Short -Sermons for all the Sundays and Chief Holy Days of the Christian -Year, Missions, Schools, Harvest, Club, etc., with a supplement of -Twenty Sermon Sketches. TENTH EDITION. 2 vols. Fcap. -8vo, 12s. net (postage 6d.).</p> - -<blockquote> -<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Vol. I.</span>, separately, Advent to Whit-Sunday, Fcap. 8vo, 6s. net -(postage 4d.).</p> - -<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Vol. II.</span>, separately, Trinity to Advent, Miscellaneous, also Twenty -Sermon Sketches, Fcap. 8vo, 6s. net (postage 4d.).</p></blockquote> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>Homely Words for Life's Wayfarers</b>: By the late <span class="smcap">J. B. C. -Murphy</span>. SEVENTH IMPRESSION. Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. 6d. -net (postage 3d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>Twenty-five Plain Sermons, including Advent, Christmas Day, End of the -Year, Epiphany, Ash Wednesday, Lent, Good Friday, Ascension Day, Whit -Sunday, All Saints' Day, Hospital Sunday, etc.</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>Words by the Way</b>: A Year's Sermons by the late <span class="smcap">H. J. -Wilmot-Buxton</span>. Crown 8vo, cloth, 4s. 6d. net (postage 5d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>Fifty-seven Short Plain Sermons for the whole Christian year. Only one -edition of these most excellent Sermons has ever been published. It is one -of the very best of all Mr. Buxton's Volumes of Sermons and will be found of -real practical value for the whole year. The original edition was published -at 6s.</p> -<hr class="full" /> - -<p class="center">FOR THE EASTER OR FIRST COMMUNION.</p> - -</div> - -<p class="hang"><b>Short Preparation Service for Holy Communion</b>: H. C. -Manuals by <span class="smcap">Dr. C. J. Ridgeway</span>, Bishop of Chichester. SIXTH -IMPRESSION. 2d., or 14s. net per 100 (postage 5d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>To be used in Church after Evensong on Sunday, or at other convenient -times.</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>Easter Communion.</b> A four-page Leaflet. 1200th thousand. -For Distribution in Church or Parish, before any of the great -Church Festivals. ½d., or 3s. 6d. net per 100 (postage 4d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>Tastefully printed in red and black: Why shall I come?—What is H.C.?—What -are the Benefits?—In what spirit?—How shall I Prepare?—When -shall I come?—How live afterwards? etc.</p> - -<hr class="full" /></div> - - -<p class="hang"><b>Instructions and Devotions for Holy Communion</b>; -which includes the Two Tracts, "How to Prepare" and "How to -Give Thanks," with extra Instructions and Devotions, also the -Complete Office for Holy Communion. 120th thousand. 24mo, cloth -boards, 1s. 9d. net (postage 2d.). Cloth limp, 1s. 3d. (postage 1d.). -Crimson roan, round corners, and gold over red edges, 3s. net -(postage 2d.).</p> -<div class="small"> -<p class="hang"><b>N.B.—How to Prepare for the Holy Communion.</b> Separately, 2d., or -14s. net per 100 (postage 5d.).</p> - -<p class="hang"><b>How to Give Thanks after Holy Communion.</b> Separately, 2d., or -14s. net per 100 (postage 5d.).</p> - -<p><b>The late Bishop Walsham How</b> wrote: "Mr. Ridgeway's little -manuals will, I think, be found very generally and practically useful. They -are thoroughly sensible and excellent for their purpose."</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>Holy Communion.</b> "How to Prepare," and "How to Give -Thanks." Printed in red and chocolate, on toned paper. Warmly -commended by the late Bishop Walsham How. It forms a beautiful -little Confirmation Gift Book, in Prayer Book size, bound in elegant -cloth, lettered in gold. In red silk cloth for boys, or white silk cloth -for girls. 24mo, price 1s. net. These two tracts may also be had -separately, 2d. each, or 14s. per 100 (postage 6d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>The following letter appeared in the <i>Church Times</i>: "Sir,—I have -been 29 years Vicar of this large agricultural parish, and all the time I have -been in vain looking out for plain simple manuals for the Holy Communion, -suitable to the capacities of an agricultural population, and have never been -able to meet with any till now. I put into the hands of my Candidates for -Confirmation Ridgeway's Manual 'How to Prepare for the Holy Communion,' -with the satisfactory result that every one of them came to the -early Communion yesterday. I could never before succeed in getting all the -confirmed to communicate immediately after Confirmation."—<span class="smcap">F. H. Chope</span>, -<i>Vicar, Hartland Vicarage, N. Devon</i>.</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>Church Going.</b> A four-page Leaflet. 160th thousand. ½d., -or 3s. 6d. net per 100 (postage 4d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>Why?—When?—In what spirit should I go?—What shall I do there?—What -good shall I get?—Why do people stay away? etc. A most practical -and persuasive little Tract.</p> - -<hr class="full" /> -<p class="center">CONFIRMATION LIST.</p> - -</div> - -<p class="hang"><b>Four Manuals</b> by the Right Rev. <span class="smcap">C. J. Ridgeway</span>, D.D., Bishop -of Chichester. 405th THOUSAND. ½d., or 3s. 6d. net per 100 -(postage 4d.).</p><div class="small"> - - -<p class="hang">1.—<b>Confirmation.</b> A four-page Leaflet, printed on toned paper in red and -black, forming a companion to the same author's leaflet, "Easter Communion." -Confirmation: What is it?—Its Nature—What does God -do?—What does man do?—Why should I be Confirmed?—At what -age?—How shall I prepare?—What good will it do? For distribution -in Church and Parish before a Confirmation.</p> - -<p class="hang">2.—<b>How to Prepare for Confirmation.</b> TWENTY-SEVENTH -THOUSAND. Fcap. 8vo, 2s. 6d. net (postage 2d.). A course of -Preparatory Instructions for Candidates, in Eight Plain Addresses, each -followed by a few Plain Questions. The Questions with suggested -Prayers separately, 2d., or 14s. net per 100 (postage 6d.).<br /> - -"Will be an invaluable help to the Clergy, who, in these days of high -pressure, have little time for preparation. The questions are reprinted -separately, so that each Paper may be easily detached and given to the -Candidate after each instruction."—<i>Church Times.</i></p> - -<p class="hang">3.—<b>Confirmation Questions</b> (<b>Plain</b>). SEVENTIETH THOUSAND. -Sewn, 2d., or 14s. net per 100 (postage 6d.). In Eight Papers, -with Suggested Prayers; taken from the same Author's book, "How -to Prepare for Confirmation."</p> - -<p class="hang">4.—<b>"My Confirmation Day," at Home and in Church</b>: including the -Confirmation Service itself, with Prayers, Thoughts, and Hymns for -use during the entire day, that is, morning and evening at Home, -and during the Service at Church. EIGHTIETH THOUSAND. A -little gift for Confirmation Candidates of a most helpful and valuable -kind. 3d. net, 48 pages. Also an Edition, elegantly bound in cloth, -with the Hymns printed in full, price 6d. net (postage 1d.).</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>Catechism on Confirmation</b>: By the Rev. <span class="smcap">J. Leslie</span>, M.A., -Incumbent of St. James', Muthill. ELEVENTH IMPRESSION. -2d., or 14s. net per 100 (postage 4d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>Twelfth Edition of these admirably simple Confirmation Questions.</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>Plain Instructions and Questions for Confirmation -Candidates</b>: By Rev. <span class="smcap">Spencer Jones</span>, Author of "Our Lord and -His Lessons." In Seven Papers. A set of absolutely simple -Confirmation Papers. For VILLAGE CANDIDATES. 1½d., or -10s. net per 100 (postage 6d.).</p> - - -<hr class="full" /> - -<p class="hang"><b>Thoughts for Confirmation Day</b>: By the late Hon. and -<span class="smcap">Rev. W. H. Lyttelton</span>, M.A. NINETIETH THOUSAND. Sewn, -2d., or 14s. net per 100 (postage 5d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>Adapted to the use of Candidates in Church during the intervals of the -Service on the day of Confirmation. Printed on thick-toned paper, with blank -space on outside page for Candidate's Name, Date of Confirmation, etc.</p> -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="center">CONFIRMATION GIFTS AND CERTIFICATES.</p> - - - -<p class="hang">"<b>I Will.</b>" "<b>I Do.</b>" By the late Rev. <span class="smcap">Edmund Fowle</span>. The -Rev. <span class="smcap">Edmund Fowle's</span> most successful Confirmation Memento, of -which more than 80,000 copies have been sold, and which has been so -highly commended by many of the Bishops and Clergy. Stitched -up in an elegant Cloth Pocket Case, 9d. net.</p> -<div class="small"> -<p><b>Bishop King of Lincoln wrote</b>:—"I beg to thank you for your very -pretty-looking gift."</p> - -<p><b>Rev. W. Muscroft, Thorner Vicarage Leeds, writes</b>:—"I am very -much obliged to you for the beautiful little Confirmation Memento. I don't -remember ever seeing anything of the kind that I admire so much."</p> - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>Confirmation Triptych.</b> 122nd thousand, 1d., or 7s. net -100 (postage 6d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>A small folding Triptych Certificate Card, with blank spaces for Name and -Date, etc., of Confirmation and First Communion; elegantly printed in -mauve and red with Oxford lines, with appropriate verses and texts, and -special design of the Good Shepherd, on the reverse side, with the words of -the Bishop's Confirmation Prayer. This card is perhaps the very best of the -many Certificate Forms.</p> - -<p>"One of the best we have seen."—<i>Church Times.</i></p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>Boys</b>: Their Work and Influence. Twelfth thousand. Bound -in Elegant cloth, 1s. net (postage 1d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>Specially suitable for Parochial Distribution. Home and School—Going -to Work—Religion—Courage—Money—Amusements—Self-Improvement—Chums—Courtship—Husbands, -etc.</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>Girls</b>: Their Work and Influence. Fifteenth thousand. Bound -in elegant cloth, 1s. net (postage 1d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>Specially suitable for Parochial Distribution. Home and School—The -Teens—Religion—Refinement—Dress—Amusement—Relations—Friendship—Youth -and Maiden—Service and Work—Courtship—Wives, etc.</p> - -<p>"There is so much that is sensible and instructive in these two little works -that we are glad to have the opportunity of cordially recommending them. -The manly, thoroughly practical tone of the advice given to boys and the -womanly unaffected remarks offered to the girls can but find a welcome -acceptance."—<i>Church Times.</i></p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>A Little Book to Help Boys during School Life</b>: By the -late <span class="smcap">Rev. Edmund Fowle</span>. TWELFTH THOUSAND. Cloth, -1s. 3d. net (postage 1d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>This most useful and original little book is intended as a gift from parents -or friends to Boys.</p> - -<p class="hang"><b>The late Bishop Walsham How wrote</b>:—"Your little book is -excellent. I have already ordered a number to keep by me for presents to -boys." <b>Bishop Hole wrote</b>:—"Your little book seems excellent and is -much wanted."</p> - - -<hr class="full" /></div> - -<p class="hang"><b>The Girl's Little Book</b>: By <span class="smcap">Charlotte M. Yonge</span>. -ELEVENTH IMPRESSION. Elegant cloth, 1s. 3d. net -(postage 1d.).</p><div class="small"> - -<p>A Book of Help and Counsel for Everyday Life at Home or School. This -charming little volume forms a capital gift from the Parish Priest or from -parents or god-parents.</p> - -<p><b>The Athenæum says</b>:—"A nice little volume full of good sense and -real feeling."</p> - -<p><b>The Lady says</b>:—"Just the sort of little book to be taken up and -referred to in little matters of doubt and difficulty, for the advice it contains -is good, sensible, kindly, and Christian."</p> - - -<p class="center"><i>Books in this List can only be posted on receipt of remittance. Books are not -sent on approval.</i></p> -</div><hr class="full" /> - -<p class="center">London: SKEFFINGTON & SON, LTD., 34, Southampton St., Strand, W.C.2, -AND OF ALL BOOKSELLERS.</p> - -<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> It has, nevertheless, done work of inestimable value in France, -in Serbia and in Russia.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> It is only fair to add that the whole question was under serious -consideration when the war broke out, and made reform, for the -moment, impossible.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> "Oh, well, you will give it to me another time."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> Like beasts, on straw.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> We were so happy!</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_6_6" id="Footnote_6_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> During the war all seals are broken.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_7_7" id="Footnote_7_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_7"><span class="label">[7]</span></a> Nothing inconveniences me when it is in the service of God.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_8_8" id="Footnote_8_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_8"><span class="label">[8]</span></a> A big, fat, lazy thing.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_9_9" id="Footnote_9_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_9"><span class="label">[9]</span></a> Literally, "There is beet," but the peasants sometimes used -the word indifferently for any kind of root-vegetable such as -turnips, etc.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_10_10" id="Footnote_10_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_10_10"><span class="label">[10]</span></a> Singe (monkey), the soldier-slang for bully-beef.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_11_11" id="Footnote_11_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_11_11"><span class="label">[11]</span></a> It must be remembered that there is no one in such villages or -their immediate neighbourhood capable of initiating such recreation. -The inhabitants are of the small farmer class for the most part, -the mayor a working man, the parish priest old (priests of military -age serve with the colours), and all are often very poor.</p></div></div> - -<div class="transnote"> -<h3>Transcriber's Notes</h3> - -<p>Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected and - variations in accents and hyphenation standardised. Other variations - in spelling and punctuation are as in the original.</p> - -<p> The repetition of the title on the first page has been removed.</p> - -<p>Chapter IX, <a href="#Page_131">page 131</a><br /> - The sentence "Then came a large dish of beans; we ate beans. We were - sending out wireless messages by this, but no relief ship appeared on - the horizon." appears to be missing a word after "this" (possibly time) - but has been left as printed.</p> - - -</div> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Round about Bar-le-Duc, by Susanne R. 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